Grey – A peek from under the wet blanket

It’s an art to live with pain… mix the light into gray.” – Eddie Vedder
late-on-time

Listen, while I tell you a story of grey. The grey wraps around my soul in a haze of unwanted anxiety, a watered down black, like dark swirls in spoiled milk. These streaks of deteriorated joy cover my lens, my warm blanket soaked with fruitless tears. Feelings are sharp and cutting, nothing is gained by the sorrow. My grey love backfires, I point it toward her but the pain is set loose on my soul. This grey soaks me, in vain I try to keep myself warm in the breeze of cool emotion. Grey is my elixir of madness. I drink deep from the drought of darkness gone bad. Stormy clouds gather, a condensation of holiness evaporated from the lake of my soul, leaving it a lifeless puddle of unfathomable sorrow. Now you know of my affliction my curious companion, my lifelong condition of grey. Pray that you escape its mesmerizing effects and that you with the brightness of healthy hope, avoid this quicksand of a tortured mind.

For help with depression: Symptoms, Warnings, Solutions
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Different

“…if something happens to show that you are wrong, then it is feeble not to change your mind, Elizabeth. Only the strongest people have the pluck to change their minds…” – Enid Blyton, The Naughtiest Girl in the School

 

trashkat

Different, as lake to rain, that’s how I grow
Different, as rock to sand, that’s how I know
No way to mend the different things
One old one new
Nothing’s gonna change, ’till you change what you do.

Different, as smiles to tears, that’s a truth
Different, as move to stay, that’s a root
You can be a different thing
One tried, one true
Nothing’s gonna change, ’till you change what you do.

Different, as road to rut, that’s how I stand
Different, as belong to reject, that’s how I land
Thinking of doing the different things
Once seen, I do
Nothing’s gonna change, ’till you change what you do.

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Rain Drop

“Do not be angry with the rain; 
it simply does not know how to fall upwards.” 
fanpop
Why am I leaving my place of comfort, my mountain lake so clear and pristine?

Why am I flying higher and higher through places I’ve never been?

Why am I spinning in clouds so dark with rumblings fierce?

Why am I thrown to the ground in anger it seems?

Now I am being swallowed up by a young oak.

That was the reason for all my trial and discomfort. It was to give life…. 

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