I’m floating on a lost breeze of depressional rhythm,
Lost in an existence of nothing,
With only my conscience that is aware of my being,
My sleep deprived mind believes that the reality of life is actually a thing,

I am like a vibration on a guitar string,
As it is plucked from the tears that fell onto the saddest of all blues songs,
I am a mystical wave of smoke and air,
With only raw emotions showing me that the perception of reality is wrong,

Damaged and lost,
I, being an obscure figmental lone wolf in this world,
I fear everything in the dark woods that I call my home,
As my spirit dances in the fires of spirals and twirls,

I dance with the perception of death,
As I am death and I am also life itself,
I am a sound, rhythm, a thought,
I purely exist cos depression has strength and wealth,

I am completely sane and coherent,
But I am also completely trapped in madness,
Intelligent, Depressed, Incredibly lonely and sleep deprived,
My mind fails to repair in the raging storms of a PTSD mess,

So the pigeon’s flap their wings as I feed them,
And as I feel the smallest puff of air upon my face,
It keeps me trapped in this reality of fake,
And takes my being from that rhythmic nothingness of peace and locks me in this broken place.

Wrote on: 23/10/2024
**Side Note**
I have never been able to find the words to explain how my mind feels about my own existence. But I wrote this early hours of this morning and it’s the closest I have got so far…….