Sadness is the epiphany of my brain,
but what drives my mind to the depths of sorrow?
What keeps me blue when others are bright?
The pits of despair are lonely and bare,
Like a room devoid of air,
So cautiously drained of necessities,
Or light to spare.
But this mindless gloom that cripples me is blind with fury.
Angry at life for bustling with beauty.
My mindless gloom is a thief of words and feelings,
and a dealer of hate and misgivings.
I try,
but, oh why,
am I,
so doomed to die?
