The shadows I Cast

I look down at the black pavement sea and wonder how my shadow even reflects. It's black as the late night and I feel as dark as my thick silhouette.

The depression creeps in again. The fear and hatred of my own soul keeps me awake at night. Wishing to get better, wishing I didnt feel the way I do. I want to feel as free as the sun. Warm and inviting it breaks through the clouds every day, pushing through the darkness of the world and always drying the tears of the earth.

I want to feel peace again, to feel invited and understood. I want to sleep through the late hours and rise again in the morning with new hopes and dreams for the days to come.

But I wake late in the afternoon, too broken to move one leg infront of the other. I wash away the etched streaks along my raw skin, but it doesn't remove the remembrance of the sorrow I feel.

It sounds petty, sappy, pathetic even. I sound unimaginabley sad over nothing. But when I gaze around at the faces near me I see the same expressions of yearning for something new.

I plead with my own conscious to sleep. To rest until the day that I can't wake up and remember what it was that made me fight for my happiness. Because until I find the drive to get out of bed every morning, I fear I will never become anything but a limp pillow for someone to ly on.