Dysthymia

He creeps along the baseboards at night. The fear that paints the walls. carvings, letters, frightening scratches. The wretched corpse from the night before hangs on the ceiling. Broken rope and lost desires. He sits and squallers in his emotions.

It festers inside.

Burns.

The lonesome cries and screams come from the corner. A senseless folly or facile as one who has lost their grip on reality. A perplexed state of mind leaving you with barely any breathing space. It's as if you've been thrown into a small boxed room with blank walls and left with only your presence. Once all sanity has vanquished, locked doors and sealed windows become your hell. Consistently convincing yourself you're lost and can't be discovered. The velvet sheen over your eyes become scales, blinding you from seeing anything from the outside world. The constant ringing consumes your perception, your brain buzzing and blank like a television with no signal. Precarious strings thin more every day. Being on the brink of collapsing from the weight of the steep cliff you've climbed ever so venturously. The endeavors you have aspired are amiable. But who are you to run from your rapid fate? Sorrow within your heart, soul, and mind. The persistent voice that tells you, you're not going to make it. A sudden decrepitude in your thought process. That feeling of despondency. Isolation seems to fit well when your demons drive you to suicide or even to self-inflict wounds upon your body to feel the slightest pain. This pain doesn't waver, it's always there just in portions. When despair has laid its ghoulish hand upon your head, there is no turning back.

Dysthymia, oh how you've caused misery upon my damned soul. That indentation of sorrow inside your heart, will go away once death has found you.