sad jeww hours

a full hollowness
a feeling that will and won't be missed
a stinging pain that reminds me
of a very specific time where i could be
absolutely undeniably happy
but now just brimming with melancholy
a balloon inflated with regret
and other things i don't quite understand yet
fabrication is in my nature
but not of anything useful by any measure
rather a person that i want to be with every fibre
someone with spirits far higher
than i
who asks himself why
why am i such a liar
keep secrets from even myself
place them up on a high shelf
hope i never remember where they were at
lest i remember what they are
reminders of a person i once was
somethin' that's now lost because
i'm so caught up in my woes
but i guess that's how the story goes
driven by misery and anger
each day feels like an awful fucking cliffhanger
left on one terrible note
try to pick back up but i can't see hope
only vile hatred running through my veins
anything good i try to do seems to only be in vain
where on the path did i deviate
from one full of good to one full of hate?
anger outwards
anger inwards
vile venom dripping from my words
my thoughts tainted by ghosts
some are more raucous than most
giving me vague ideas of who i should be
telling me which way i should feel
my mind feels like it's about to peel
every little layer until it reaches the festering core
where i can finally see who i am and more
but what for?
i want so desperately to understand
to know and think and feel so grand
yet the more knowledge i earn
the more i feel like i should burn
scorch my flesh and bone
in hopes that i can leave myself alone
trapped forever in my own skull
everything worn dull
time slows to a crawl
there's only been a fall
never a rise
clarity doesn't exist in my eyes
i can clearly see
but i lack the thought to percieve
anything past myself
know that i'm too afraid to ask for help
more content to sit here and decay
than to continue moving despite what may
come as a surprise
that i'm not as happy as some surmise
laying on the borderline
watching as the world goes by
wondering if it's okay to cry
if i take off my armor i might die
but i can let down my shield for a moment
and if i try i might take this moment and hold it
a part of me
exists only in secrecy
behind drawn blinds
in hind
sight i could've done so much more
but now i sit in darkness behind a closed door
the covers provide no protection
from my own infection
handed to me by my self-inflection
no sense of self-preservation
feel like i only serve as other's protection
to stop them from become
a being truly revolting
something similar in an eerie way
to the way i am to this day
to keep their spirits up
and to fill their cup
with a reminder
that i am the binder
who spreads himself too thin
to the point where there's nothing within
but what feels like a world of sin
the only option i have is to end where i begin