I am in a constant state of unhappiness.
In my unhappiness, the happiness is blotted out
By a blank state of staring at something that should, but almost isn’t there
Stuck forever searching for something that I can’t find.
It leaves such a fulfilling sense of emptiness
That consumes my stomach and breathes through my lungs.
It beats my still heart
And floods the lights of my eyes with a blinding darkness
This irremovable state of joyous depression
Plagues my healthy brain, making everything perfectly sensible
Yet irrevocably insane.
In short: I am incorrigibly confused.
And, maybe, I thoughtlessly think,
Maybe I’m perfectly happy being perfectly deranged.