The situation has never been ideal or common.

Maybe I just put more meaning into things than they deserved.

I cover my depression so no one can see.

I hide inside of me.

The only times I have come to life,

Has been when I was with a friend.

Now I question, if that was real,

Or just another hidden shield

I conjured up in my mind,

To be a temporary fix?

Not sure what is real any more.

What is real in me?

Sometimes, it seems I cannot believe I am as old as I am.

I wonder at times, where life went,

And when did I grow up?

Or if I ever did?

Funny those who claim they know me,

Really do not know me at all.

I know the ones I thought I knew,

I never really did.

Was I blind?

Or did I just not want to see?

I read once,

That life was just a dream.

If it is a dream,

Could it not be a nightmare as well?

Do we really have control to decide in this life?

Or is that just an arrogant thing,

Us humans want to believe?

Regardless, we are here and then we are gone.

Those are the facts, no changing that.

I know that I am caring less and less.

One day,

I'm sure, I'll just not care at all.

I used to want to be able to take a drug,

Or drink myself numb, no such luck.

Cigs being my only addiction has never numbed my emotions.

So I must just deal, I guess.

I suppose it's possible to just go insane.

Crying in my beer,

so to speak,

and feeling sorry, for my sorry-assed, self.

Is not going to make me better.

However, until I can just accept what is,

More than what I'd like it to be.

I will continue to lapse into these,

Pity parties of self.

Sometimes I laugh at myself.

How stupid I have been.

I appeared to mask things with a smile,

In the past, to hide what was inside.

Now I have given up that mask.

I'll probably end up a hermit,

Hiding away,

Waiting for the day life here is gone.

Who am I to complain, anyway?

I made this bed of dread,

Now I must play it out.

I contradict myself all the time.

I think that is called indecisive.

Maybe borderline nuts?

A simple moth, that wanted to be a butterfly,

Forever dreaming big, always getting lost.

Reaching for things, To find they disappear like the mist in a fog.