Lost

I have never felt like more of a failure than I do at this very moment.

I can't bring myself to finish anything.

Projects I have held so near and dear to my heart.

The depression holds my pen with a grip tighter than mine.

My fingers shake as I sit down to type and my chest tightens at the thought of writing.

My mind is foggy and my desire has died.

Ideas run through my mind like cars on a street with no traffic lights and I can't make them stop moving.

But there is something holding me back.

Something dark clinging to my flesh and cutting me deep.

Something sucking the passion from my heart and the life from my body.

Keeping me captive from the warmth I once knew.