The Forward

Depression is that kind of stillness that hits you late at night as you step off your porch to light a cigarette. The smoke hits your lungs with the same force as the night sky, the stars, and every single one of your regrets. It's that urgency of not moving when you know you're supposed to be somewhere, you just don't know where somewhere is. You step into the road past the trees to get a better look at the moon and realize you could be gone by the time dawn breaks and besides, who would miss you anyway? Loneliness is what makes up the darkness surrounding each star, and I'd love to believe that you are the light that illuminates the snow below my feet, but to do that I must ask, where are you? And who are you? I suppose you could ask the same of me, but what would that achieve, I mean really? It's the way that the room drops ten degrees every time I chance a look and The Forward is glaring back at me. It's the unsure footing as you trace the miles along a map, knowing full well there is no destination in mind. Fear is that pit in your stomach and the undeniable truth that springs from it. You and I are born from ashes and every day, every second that passes I notice you get lighter while I stay complacent. With the promise of material things, I can't help but wonder, are the two really adjacent? 

I know we all have a rainbow of defects, like the color red, boiling beneath our very beings, but lately, all I can see is gray. There is no black or white, or color for that matter, only the things in my past that I should and should not have done. Only the feeling of my fingertips going numb. Only the street lights getting dimmer. Only my moral fibers growing threadbare. I always wanted to test the waters, make a statement, and hold my own. Every time I open my mouth, I just want to go home. Perhaps that is the truth to life, that happiness is unachievable. And while I know I'm not supposed to be thinking these things and thinking this way, my old habits that die hard, want to tell to you to just watch me. Watch me wallow in my own filth because an unclean mind is nothing to be envious of. I have these thoughts day in and day out. I watch the sunrise like a phoenix, and the moon set each night like a broken dream. Shattered lovers, torn at the seams. No one ever wonders what keeps them apart, but by all means, feel free to psychoanalyze me. What do I know anyway? 

I'll keep talking like I have anything to say, and you'll keep gawking like your advice means anything to me. 

I won't take it. 

I won't hear you. 

I am a storm and a dare you to try and take me; try and tame me.