DISCLAIMER:

This journal is LOOSELY based on my beliefs and most of the events are fictional. The view points in the Journals POORLY reflects my own views on life, or anything else for that matter.
If you get offended... GET OVER IT. This isn't real. Just stories in my head.

And so the cycle goes...

I want to write, I can't write, I want to express myself, I can't paint, I can't draw

I can't even think.

The longer it takes me to get all of this out, the more frustrated I get and the more I CAN'T get it out.

It's some never-ending repetitive motion.

It doesn't help that depression finds me at every turn. As I round the corner, I can see it there - looming amoungst the shadows, digging it's fingers into the ground and creeping around. It's waiting for the very last moment, when I'm least expecting, before it stands erect.

By then it's too large to run from.

It swoops in and swallows me, like I'm the pill even though it's the disease.

There seems to be no cure and I'm left drowning in the dark.


A smile is the brightest part of the room.

I wish someone would turn the light on for me.


I would use it as a sword and cut through this monster's stomach.
I would be Athena to it's Zeus.
I would destroy it from the inside.

But, I am no goddess. I'm not even strong enough to poke a hole and allow a pinprick of light to filter in. I am lost and grasping at slimey, slippery walls, trying to find my way out.

Is there still such a thing as a knight in shinning armor?

Or is this night perpetial?

I think both answers are No.
I'm the only one who can save myself.

And at this moment, all of my muscles have atrophied. I don't have the strength to pull myself out.

Perhaps I'll rest here a while and wallow in self-pity instead.

If you seriously still think all of this is real, then you shouldn't be reading my crazy journals.
This account's journals are STRICTLY for fun, not meant to offend anyone. Just a release of my inward thoughts outside of poetry and my writing account.
Good Day to you all