Having been referred to on multiple occasions as being “depressed”, I am offended. Every time. Having a chronically macabre state of mind and being drawn to a melancholy atmosphere and writing does not make one depressed. Or a psychopath. It does not mean a person is on a journey to being a serial killer or committing suicide. Some people, such as myself, just happen to find comfort in things deep and meaningful. While some comedy, joy, and love is to be revered and enjoyed more sparingly the sad, twisted, and horrid truths of the world can uphold a better sense of completion, joy, and love. This does not make one depressed or mentally ill but perhaps just more...... thoughtful.

Angst

He loves his boy drunk,
and in the dark.
The scent of fresh spirits clinging to his tongue as he whispers his insecurities into the shadowed night.
His hands wrapped around the fragile boys arms, even though they shouldn't,

because this boy, his boy, is too bright, too precious to loosen the grip he has.
While he is made up of stolen cigarette smoke and bruised knuckled smiles, the love he has conjured up is beyond magic.

He lusts his boy sober
and dawn breaks through the curtained room.

Coffee engulfs the narrowed hallways and the creaking wooden board is the only sound heard besides soft snores.
He looks away from the paled soul, loosens his touch
and each time he gets up and leaves, he breaks both their hearts.
don't you know you can love him with the lights on too?

Mistakes happen
One's good and One's bad
Sometimes you won't know how to fix them
They rip and tear until all that's left is memories
And beyond repair so much that you can't even be fond of it

When they happen
You feel all down
The friendships seem to start to crumble
You watch it one by one
All fall apart
Until all that's left is a knife, so sharp

Mr Mistake will grab the knife, and slice you up
Once it's finished you'll be covered in scars
Scars on your arms, scars on your neck
Scars all over and even in your chest
These scars will last forever even if no one can see them

Mr Mistake is ruthless you know
Sometimes I feel like it's pulling me further and further down
It grabs me and scratches at my ankles
And when it's done I'm 6 feet under

Mr Mistake doesn't care
He doesn't care if you can't breath
He does stop to let you weep
He does everything indiscriminately
And he'll make you feel like you're trapped

But Mr Mistake is one who does have flaws
You can pick up what's been torn
When done right you can fix what's broken
Even when tape and glue has fallen

Just remember that when Mr Mistake comes, not to panic
But realise he's here and try to fix it
Mr Mistake will go away with time
But can come back when you think you're fine

Mr Mistake doesn't care for how you feel
But will always stop if you make him yield
He can always be beaten and put in his place
If only you have the determination to stand up and finish the race

Why do we ask the same questions
Using the same words
And hope it is any more relevant
And meaningful
Than it was before?

The word "happiness" would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.