I feel like there is a war going on within my own self. The sides are Depression (and their allies, Anger, Regreat, Frustration, Confusion, Mourning, Suicide, Mutilation, etc.) verses Happiness (and their allies, Peace, Calm, Tranquility, Clairity, Understanding, etc.) and right in the middle is Complacency (somewhere in the middle; Aloofness, Standoffish, Bitchy, Apathy, Vague, Numbness, Lost). Each time they charge, I feel it within my soul. With each stab of Regreat and flash of Anger, a burst of hot blood courses through my veins and realeases a blitz of Confusion into my mind. Then silence, for but a few seconds, and it seems as though Peace may prevail for maybe a few moments because anything is better than the attack of Depression. But all I'm left with is Numbness in a veil of Apathy that nothing could penatrate except for more Mourning. Time passes slowly in the battlefield. Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into lifetimes. The battle begins early so it lingers throughout the daylight hours. At least in daylight I could feel a bit more comforted and protected from my enemies. There are flashes of Clairity in the day, a splash of Tranquility as the sun warms my face and the world is filled with color. The things that I once took for granted that made me feel the slightest bit of joy comes to remind me of the feeling. This seems to be a resting place for my battle. But come many lifetimes later, the sun is stolen and comes the cloak of night to make my enemies thrive and feast upon the solomn lightless world I am now surrounded with. No one is here to save me becuase of their beautiful ability to sleep, but I am here to conquer all the attackers by my own. Night drags on as the Depression feasts upon my melancholy and rips tears into my heart. I feel as if I may die. They set a fire inside of me that can only be relieved through my tears, though they do not reach deep inside of me. Only a small release for what's inside of me. This battle rages on and on, horrible reminders of why I'm being attacked come in small doses and only fuel the fire of my madness. Wave upon wave of attack comes and retreats, and not even my dreams are of some comfort. Delusional, hallucinating, haunting visions and sounds come from within me and drag my heart through torment and hell that only my own self could produce. The ones that can help can do nothing for me. The ones that reach out to me are pushed away from the Apathy and Bitch front that the war has put up upon my face. Though I cry out inside me for someone's hand, for someone's embrace, for a place to break down, nothing will come. No one will come. This battle has gone on for what seems like all of eternity and now, no loner is Clairity and Happiness in any horizon in my site. There is only a land of dead trees, barren ground and pitch-black sky surrounding an almost empty soul that was once so full of life and hope. I lay in my Lost state, praying for some saviour from the pain, wishing on all the stars and lives and hairs on my head and tears I've shed for an end to the torment and strain. The ability to hear nothing but silence for just a few fleeting moments or some sort of Calm from everything inside my head. . . . . . then comes Suicide, his knife in one and and another extending to me. He looks to pick me up and I see this as my saving grace. This feared entity comes to me now as a shining light and beautiful creature because at this point anything is better than the war, than doing nothing and not being able to do anything. He waits for me forever, never leaving my sight. He follows me everywhere and his knife is so enticing. Suicide is the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen at this very moment. But the better part of me knows that I cannot go with him. A whole of me knows that to go with him would be the end of this pain, but what has he to give me afterwards? Suicide leaves my sight sometimes, but he's always around. I feel him staring at me with a burning passion and urgency. He leaves and I am back in my blank world. I start to walk and try to find something, anything to save me. Before he comes back. Suicide comes back many times in many forms. He sometimes has a gun in his hand, a bottle of pills, a noose, a blade. Once he road a car, once I know he wouldn't stop for me if I walked in front of it. But no matter what form he comes in, no matter what he holds in his hand, the other is always extended. He never leaves me, no matter how much I want him to. He never goes far, just in case I need him. Suicide is patient and always lingers. No matter how incredibly crippling it is to be around him, I still feel like I need him. I've tried to take him, embrace him with open arms and take his hand. But all too many times, he his hand is taken away by someone or something. Some unseen force and keeps me safer than ever, but this force I cannot see and therefor cannot identify with. This invisability makes me lost and has no had to extend to me in my time of hopelessness. I have nothing when it is around. But when Suicide is near, at least I know that he wants me. He wants me and would never leave me. He may touch others, but he will always come back to me. He will always be there like a demented, tourmented lover that does not leave no matter what I throw at him. Suicide. . . Suicide is golden. . . Perhaps someday I may take his hand again. That I will throw myself to him and surrender to his temptation with all my heart. Maybe one day this saving force will leave me and commit me to my fate. Until then, I am left in a barren land with nothing to pass the staggered time and with my lover watching me with adoring eyes and an outstreatched arm.