The Consumed

There is darkness everywhere; it consumes

the day, leaving naught for sorrowful stars.

Time does not halt for such despondency.

The moment of now is a blinding curse,

everyone beyond the shade will suffer.

Looking within will further the process.

~

How did we get here, trying to process

such gloom threatening to wholly consume

these feeble minds? Under god we suffer.

Not my god. Your god, a fiend. Mine, a star.

My god, the light in the sky. Yours, a curse,

promising bliss, sending despondency.

~

These moments used to lack despondency,

but it’s night in our hearts and the process

is a considerably squalid curse.

Then, what can one do but let it consume

mind, body, soul? We burn out like the stars,

wondering why we forever suffer.

~

What bothers me is not the suffering,

but rather, the swelling despondency

that chokes me when I speak. I am the star

of my own tragedy, I can’t process

these feelings. I am becoming consumed.

Existence, an unforgiveable curse.

~

I grow so weary of fighting this curse,

I beg for an end to such suffering.

The depression is too thick to consume.

I am blinded by this despondency

and spend days crying, I cannot process

this anymore. I am not made of stars.

~

Tears glitter like a thousand gleaming stars.

Softly they land, and the ground, they will curse

Even death is quite a salty process.

The dark lingers, it bleeds and suffers

much like the rest of us, despondency

carving our useless names in flesh consumed.

~

Forgotten by the stars, our suffering

is a simple curse, but despondency

becomes a process we freely consume.