Life's a battlefield

A million thoughts flow throw my head
They strike and tarnish my soul with poison tipped arrows spreading
gloom and depression in their paths.
They draw me from side to side, pull at me with strings.
Make a joke out of me, a clown with empty tears that don't stop.

I feel battered, abused by none other than myself
The weight burdens my mind , not with regret
But at my inability to delay to awaken
Nothing but a stone, now glow or shine of the divine

They say eyes reflect the soul
Do people see stones in mine?
For I am the soul, the stone is me
There are no windows, I feel trapped.
The empty echoes, echoes in emptyness
Lonely streets they mock me
I swore never to write out of depression
It's not depression, its inertia which overthrows; renders me incapable.

I look for God desperately, I look in songs, I look in my heart
He stays far away. And all I receive is emptyness

Writing was an exercise to feel good but look at me.
All flat, but I don't care
No voice that soothes.
No song that is mellow.
Can dark art be called beautiful?
I used to think so
People are dying. Their death is real to me
I study it like a technicality.
I study questions around if we should show the events which led to their deaths.
It doesn't free me.
Why am I not free?
I speak of causes and the past
I speak of what led me here.
But the mistakes and hardness of heart
Remind me each time.
I need to quell these.
Like a demon blown out of proportion.

I once was on an aeroplane
Landing in this new place
Full of hope and imagined splendour
My beautiful life and all that is left of it
My abilities, I had them once
It's not so much about having them as reminding me that they exist
My heart wants to feel again
My head wants to be unburdened
Where is the fire that once was?
Or did I imagine it.
I rarely write this way
The optimist in me, never lets me
But this gives me pleasure.

My feelings are real
As time goes by, fear takes over.
And, make me want to fight back hard.