Anhedonia

Everything that was beautiful, and sacred once, is now a bleeding, decaying, morbid, deathly thing. My body, my heart, and my spirit along with it.

I hate the world.

I hate what it does to people who believe in things with their heart of hearts.

My poker face is a dead body.

The thing I thought would pull me up out of loss, to be my best self - I should have known better, the thing that put me there in the first place - has only destroyed everything I've built that I was ever proud of.

And I've done no better in return.

I am a walking corpse. That spreads disease to the thing it loved the most when it was alive.

I don't know how to get this death out of me, and give what I know I am capable of.

I never knew there was a bottom this low, or darkness this dark. It's because I have a mirror, holding it up to me. I hold up my own mirror in defense, and what do we stare back at? An infinity of terrors, of ugliness, of