Sometimes I wonder what exactly is going on with me. The depression, the constant anxiety, and the pitiful words that are played in my head. I don’t understand the motive, nor the overall theme to which I deserve this crude and horrible punishment. I feel as if I’m serving a crime for all that I feel, is it because of the drugs I’ve done, or even the abuse I endured? I look to substance to relieve my hopeless profanities, as well as useless sex to pave over the screaming torment that wails my ever cringing soul. I’m stuck with the pain-stuck with guilt to which I have had no reason for doing. I hate the way I feel. and it always seems to come and go. I feel even worse for the people who try and help, because there’s no physical, nor emotional thing that they can do to help me. It’s a bright world, filled with opportunity; where clouds only follow a certain few, and the winds of change certainly hollow the unspoken truths that ooze from the minds and hearts of those who wish not to say them. Minds that are tormented by broken others, only to make their predecessors just as broken as they are. Life happens, and wounds heal, only to leave the scars that haunt every fabric of their imaginable reality. Only to pass the torch of uncertainty, leaving the regrets as embers on the floor, only to leave a path of crude depression, that will always haunt.