Black

I wear the color that I feel, the color of my soul, my heart or the void where my heart should be. The darkest hour on a moonless night, that is my color. I swirl around in my abyss of pain, torture, agony and defeat. How is it I never feel any pleasant things like love, content or joy? I feel happiness sometimes, though momentary, then despair rushes back in to fill every crevice of my being. Is this some kind of twisted joke played on me by fate? I thought I made my own destiny but life has other idea's. How is it the lowest pieces of dirt get all the luck while good people like me always catch crap? I guess it depends on how you look at it though, if I'm a good person or not. Maybe it is I who am the lowest of the low and they are the hero's unknown. I could sit and grovel this all day or I could rise and charge head on, fight for what belongs to me. Sometimes though, you grow weary and tired of fighting and so you sit and life beat you down. I've been beaten black and blue and purple both mentally and physically so much I barely recognize myself anymore. Maybe that's it, maybe love can't recognize me, so it passes me by, content not even slowing down, and joy turns and runs the other way. When I'm with you, that's when I feel happiness, that's why I always want to be with you. It's when we part, or when someone else is on your mind that reality crashes down and reminds me; good things don't last forever. So why not enjoy it while I can? It's all I have the cling to in this forsaken existence I call life. Just push me back into the black when you've had your fun, oh life of torture and pain, I surrender. For now.