Under the blanket of anhedonia.
False warmth, blurry dysphoria.
No saline left with which to clean their hands.
Ever righteous mine sons of man.
Fallen slowly one by one.
Never thinking, slowly sinking.
Drowning, silent, lungs are filling.
Embraced by blinding light, a worsening feeling.
Preference to see none, clarity forced upon all..
Tattered, faded, this old shawl.
Closing contact with a chapter.
I'd say it all started 5, maybe 6 years ago.. I realized things were coming to a dead end, I realized I didn't have many things going on. I knew I've had tendencies to be childish and little for a long, long time. I ignored 'em mostly, I didn't want it to be something I took part in, even if it was constantly on my mind for long periods of time..
For a period, I began having a brief what-if moments about death, suicide, my future, and things like that. Nothing I thought to hard on.