Anhedonia

Imagine eating pus covered glass.
That's where my appetite is at.

There is no comfort in my comforter today.
This is new as I am never without a desire to fill the void that feels like my heart.

My depression is comforted by food. Full is happy and content.
Till the cycle begins again.

I am empty.

Music allows me to fall into, rise above, and exist in the space that I choose to be. Music is like air for me. Everything is grating.

I am suffocating.

When I paint my very soul pours from the veins that feed the hands.
I can't stop trying to replace the brush with the razor blade.

I'm bleeding.

The desire to be, create, feel, or consume has departed.
Why didn't it take me?