Twenty-third of June

Why am I so unhappy? Why am I so down all the time that the only kick I get every day is teasing my friends? I’m a bully. I am a brick. I am an arsehole. My body aches constantly from being so inactive. My mind seems stretched. But stretched from what? What am I thinking about so much that makes me so tired? I feel so sick. I feel so weak.

I look at myself and think there is a happy me. A self image that is euphoric. A self image that is just colour, bright, a bright yellow like the sun. So warm with life so happy it grows on my friends and family. So warm it brings laughter to a sadden face, and a glow upon the cheeks of the dying. So warm it brings life.

The body and soul are one. If one is so blue and dark the other will darken, fade, and will gradually demise to the same dull mood as the other. And so both body and soul will become one again. But a one that is cold. One which brings darkness and depression to pleasures of life, even the ecstatic pleasures, even the heights of ecstasy within love are dampened, and become dull. Life becomes boring, and uninspiring.

Colour is all around me. Colour springs up from a room of people, all walking in their one shade. You see it, within the aesthetics of a mood, with its textures and shades. It shines out within the chuckle of a laugh, and sinks within the shrieks of a cry. Colours are more so confusing, sublime, erotic, and displeasing than flat and plain. It reads like poetry. Sometimes so simple it comes to you with ease. But more so colour is twisted, so deep and so discrete it hides, covered in broad tensions yet not caged with broad thick lines. Colour goes from a ramble to constructive a thought and from a quick rhyme in time, to a fiddly riddle that leaves you stranded in the middle.

And yet I act. I act upon simple plans, on irrational evidence that when done is done makes no sense in the aftermath. Then sleep, the time to organise your thoughts and make sense of the world slips away into the darkness of the ceiling. And with closed eyes comes the sickening flash backs of lost time, of lost moments, and of lost opportunities that could changed existence, and could free my soul. To give me more time to breathe, and to smell the life that breaths around me. That shimmers in health, and glows in sparkling colour. I would be able to step back, and indulge in a past, that will shape an unsure future.

Yet the heart it beats. Beats strong though pushes forward amongst the strain, the agony of life and the pain. It beats strong at the heights of love, the pleasures of friendship and the grandeur of happiness. It beats to make the soul, the spirit, and the meaning of existence. That very question which punishes the mind from dusk till dawn. And the mind it bounces. It bounces in thought, in solving, and in resolving the many questions that come at hand. The questions that have no answer plagues the mind for centuries, never ending, rising and falling hand in hand so bitter and so sweet. The mind is swept away by a bitter sweet tune, on a bitter sweet 23rd of June.