Every day is like the other

Nothing is hardly ever the same

but everything is.

Routine soaked into days,

minutes, and hours of nothing

but the same feeling of

nothingness.

Purpose once held in the light

now has faded into the grey.

And every single day melds into

the same nothingness.

 

Image: AytaCefersoylu medias

Hi loves,

Forgive me. I have been feeling kind of down for the past few months and it has reflected on my writing and poetry. I have posted a lot since most of what I’ve been writing is pretty depressing, and I don’t want to spread misery; however, I have to get it out of my system, and the best way to do that is to post. I’m hoping with doing that I can get well and get back to my old self. Thanks for your ears, eyes, and support! 

                                                                                                    Always, Grim