A Voice in the Dark

I have finally found meaning in life – albeit a small and obscure pursuit. I understand now that my voice, as deeply cynical as it is, deserves to be heard. Perhaps, needs to be heard. When I speak the way I do, it is because it comes from a place that is dark yes, but crude and unadulterated. It is the simple, unprocessed thoughts that run through my head on an hourly basis. They stem from a gloom that has settled over my life like a dense and poisonous fog. And yet, the skies have cleared in many ways – I see things and people that were invisible before. Some days I feel strangely blessed – depression, combined with my knack for expressing what others only shrink from – it’s a gift. And I have used it like a beacon – drawing sad and lost souls to me from the window of a lone lighthouse. Tell me about your darkest hour. They hear my call because it is wretched and because I am there when no one else is. I have lived in the shadow of death for many years and I have found that it is here, in the folds of blackness that my light shines brightest. And I will never change. There is no way out but right fucking through. And I will not be silenced until I’ve been heard – until I’ve made perfectly clear the position of misfits and loners and all those who’ve lived on the outside looking in. This one’s for you.