^

There is a sort of sadness that has been lurking. 

Not staking any claims or darkening my life continually. 

Just . . . lurking. 

On certain days I am perfectly fine. Everything seems to be pitch perfect. The tops. 

And then.

 Slowly, spreading like ink, the sadness comes. 

Nothing monumental ushers it in. 

Nevertheless, it stays.

Always on the corners. 

When it grants me a respite, I lose my inhibitions. 

Frantic in my need for the joy I so long for. 

Self-pity is a drug, and I get bone-breakingly high.


Every single day.


I say this to make a point to stave it off (whatever this elusive it is)


To find that place where I can just be.