The most depressing thing in my life is my happiness

that once was

but does not exist now.

To be happy would be vain, and vain, glory.

A little happiness is all I seek.

I enjoy it for a time, but then it's gone again.

Gone.

All is gone from me except my depression

Which is rampant within me.

"The storm rages on."

It never stops.

So this sadness will rage on forever.

Why, why, why always me?

Why am I the one that must face this world alone,

dreadfully and unbearably alone,

with nothing but heartache.

My heart aches and there is no end to the pain.

A pain that burns and engulfs my entire being

until there is nothing left of me,

but ashes,

ashes,

which are my heart and soul.

I am an empty shell except for the ashes.

These ashes are my blood, my bones.

So I am dirty inside, and other than the ashes

I have nothing.

All I want is love, just a little to get me through this life.

All I receive is hate, and this hate leads to anguish.

Because my soul is gone

I cannot deal with this anguish.

The ashes and anguish mix to make something that should not be.

They mix to make me.