I sit on the couch
Feeling enclosed in my own head space.
Burdened by the thoughts running through
At speeds which make them incomprehensible.
Everything I see I don't really see,
Everything I hear is louder than it's supposed to be.
The only remedy is the music inside of me
Singing deep tunes of regret of the past
And light tunes of the future.
But even those are crushed by the overpowering melody
Which signals a blockage in my life;
A missing soul and missing optimism.
The confusion sets in
The voice replays its evil contention;
Its need to destroy
The hope inside of me.
The hope which wells up,
Which disappears with every thought,
Which dumps me further and further into regret.