Words, words, all I have are words.
Words that I use to try and prevent the despondent herd.
The horde of black smudge that tries to engulf my being.
A sentient horde of quicksand that makes me feel like I’m sinking.
Words upon words, I have begun to abhor.
Words like happiness and fulfillment are stifling me to the core.
For these words will never be a part of my being.
Because they always seem out of hand during the moments that I’m trying.
Trying my best to achieve and grasp them
And just like a fish out of water,
They slip out of my hands as I’m trying to grab them.
See, maybe this life isn’t truly cut out for me.
Maybe I’m meant to live a demented life stemmed from misery.
Because I know I’ll never get my hands on what truly makes me happy.
Words, words, all I have are words for when I’m sober.
Words that can reflect, recall and analyze what’s exceptional and mediocre.
I have words to make people feel that it’s not yet over.
Words that can lift their spirits up and make them hover.
Hover in bliss and give them a chance to see,
That their life isn’t over and that they just have to be
Themselves when things get rough.
Because things can always get very tough.
But my words are devoured when I become a target.
A target for despair and they always aim at my heart.
I try my best to dodge their pessimistic arrows and I try my best not to get hit,
But I didn’t think they’d use a sniper rifle to hit the bullseye in a game of dart.
Words upon words, that’s all I ever have.
But when I get the blues, their meanings become less than half.
They start to seep out of my eyes and simply fall on the ground.
Only a silent sob could escape my mouth that symbolizes my frown.