Just found this lost poem in my archives (AKA my hard drive)
Boundless as the depths of heaven
Melancholy strips sense and pursuit
Every creature spurned by seven
Degraded by spurn, thievery and loot
When all at once the shadows darken
And enemies are at every turn
We sit on that craggy shore
Above the brim, above the trees
We wonder in agony what the hell we’re doing.
What the hell we’re saying
Help us! We cry
HELP US, please!
We can’t resist anger. We want relief. Relief. Relief.
Odes on loneliness, melancholia
It’s all the same
No one to help
No one to heal.
Drifting, falling, gouging, cutting, scraping.
Heal us. Heal us. Heal me
n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet—a school hallway in the evening, an unlit office on a weekend, vacant fairgrounds—an emotional afterimage that makes it seem not just empty but hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative, who are so conspicuously absent they glow like neon signs.