The Beauty

The beauty in sadness has been lost upon me. I have drowned in its magnificence all of my life, and in the lonely desperation in between gulps for air I experienced brief moments of joy. They were quick glances, but I saw the beauty that had been lost on me in my struggle to keep from being drugged down by the fierce and Herculean grip my depression and sorrow had on my soul. Existence is supposed to be a gift from the divine, yet like a spoiled child I weep due to the life I was given. Yet I cannot break free. I am not weak though, for I have broken free and saw sight of others, but they only watched as my struggle worsened. Some offered help only to push me further adrift when I accepted. It is hard to breathe, but I manage, the only true beautiful thing remaining is the hope I see in my reflection during the moments I breach the constant waves of anguish.