My depression has gone past what I had hoped. I'm never happy and I've come to realize that my smile is as fake as the chain of lies I continue to hide behind. When I laugh, I find nothing amusing, the sound morbidly monotonous. I cry with the hope that the trails left behind become permanent. The dry feeling has almost become comforting. I don't look forward to anything and everything I see is black and white. Death has become all I ever truly obsess over. The longing never goes away, but it sometimes softened when I feed the sorrow with pain of a different kind. Self soothing has become the new name for the unconcious attempts... My arms have become burial grounds for every pain I've ever felt. I can't see past the darkness into the light I'm dying to see. I'm alone in this, with not even the slightest tingle of consulation. I feel these arms reach out barely grasping my tear soaked hands, only to let go, letting me fall back into this misery. I'm helpless in this, longing for an end to everything.