• Suffer I Will.

    Everything light and bright has darkened to an unpleasant shade of depression.
    The feelings measured in mere color become without measure, they become unable to be measured.
    They have grown so dark that black cannot even compare to their new, abyss like nature.
    The once beating vessel from within my chest has been cast into this colorless abyss and holds on to reality by a string of hopelessness.
    This string is rotting, fraying, breaking, splitting with each meaningless day and I feel that dying vessel falling deeper and deeper into that abyss.
    Ravenous, famished, starved birds—black birds—ascend from the depths of a hell known only by the pitiful, pity filled mortals of this disgusting, putrid earth. They rise, soar from these scorching fissures and take wing into the dreary skies of my depression…my colorless depression.
    I’m captivated by their morbid beauty and then terrified. They begin to attack my hopelessness. They pick and pick at the only thing that keeps me from a hollow, empty existence. Their jagged beaks rip at my survival—my string— and yet they do not tear at my heart.
    They’d rather me suffer than die.

    Suffer I will.