Despair

How many poems must I write because I cannot bear the weight of my own existence? Every poem is an attempt to stay afloat on this ocean of apathy, a life raft. However, life's waves are and unrelentingseem intent on engulfing me. I scribble verses to guide others through the darkness like a lighthouse keeper, even while my own spirit is clouded in mist. I waited for beacons— my own verses to shine for myself too, to overcome my own inner darkness. But instead, I became a prisoner of words, confined within a cell I made for myself. I've found peace in silence, in papers, and in ink— in isolation. The words spill out, a relentless torrent, but they offer no salvation, in this unattentive world. The crowd, is a sea of strangers, carries on, oblivious to the drowning man in their midst. I am a solitary island, surrounded by many, yet utterly alone. Each passing face is a mirror of my isolation, a stark contrast to the illusory companionship found on the pages. How many more poems must I write to build a bridge to the other side of despair?