What Do You See?

If my life was a mere ink blot, I wonder what they'd all see.
Right now, I have more problems than I can deal with at one time.
Fighting off one demon, while roughly 4 others take up the rear.
I hope I'm not rendered helpless, but the loneliness I feel, the pain...
It's overbearing.
I can't simply numb it mentally, because it is to much to sweep under the carpet.
Big enough to crowd my vision to where I see nothing else.
Quite simply small enough for outer people to either ignore, or miss all together.
I'm drowning in my own blood, it seems.
Though I do not write in ink, now, I have injected myself with the pen so that I may bleed lyrics and poems.
My cynical veiw tortures me like no other.
The predecessor, the one who once lived in my mind, has nearly vanished.
My joyful self, almost gone with the wind.
In the purgatory we call life, I await the day when my mind has endured enough.
The strain is great.
I grow weary.
I have been at this for some time now.
This life is hard to manage.

Consider the Outcome

I've contracted a headache
Half from natural cause, the other half from thinking too much.
So many things I could work up to, but when I consider the outcome for the long run,
I am discouraged, because the would all be in vain, and either way, would be empty.
Some things are not worth trying for.
I embrace that truth, because it often saves me from investing too much into one thing.
I won't give any examples, because it would leak insecurity quite vigorously.
Others may just make me vulnerable.
Others may relate to people I care about.
Not directly, of course, but in the end, the purpose of some tasks are to impress or interest others.
I often fabricate the outcomes in my head just to see the end.
It does save me...
Maybe I'm scared of trying...
Not because of the effort, but because of the time I'd lose...
Not to mention, all of the devotion to a particular thing...

Where the Wild Things Are

Have any of you ever read the book "Where the Wild Things Are"?
I swear, it ruined my life.

The first time I read it  was in 3rd grade, and it wasn't what the book said, by any means.
It was actually decently written, but the colors told a different story.
Now, I don't want to ruin anyone's childhood, however, the colors used in that book were so dreary, it took a toll on me.
Until that point, my life felt vibrant, and I saw the world with color, but when I read that book, the rest of my day and frankly my life/childhood was very drab.
From then on, all I saw was gray. The world was dark to me. There were no other colors that were bright, and I don't know if it's just me, or maybe it was my innocence, I don't know. Something left me that day, and that was my first taste of what depression was like.
I wish I could travel back in time to stop me from reading it. Maybe time would be all I was buying, but either way, I feel like I would've somehow had more hope and joy.

Maybe it's just me, but man, that sucked. Sucked the life right out of me.