It's always almost Autumn, down here at Rock Bottom.

I'm falling apart, one part after another. Falling down on the world like snow. Half of me is already on the ground, watching from below.

We may seem fine, even when the pain remains right there beneath our surface.

You know all that sympathy that you feel for an abused child who suffers without a good mom or dad to love and care for them? Well, they don't stay children forever. No one magically becomes an adult the day they turn eighteen. Some people grow up sooner, many grow up later. Some never really do. But just remember that some people in this world are older versions of those same kids we cry for.

I'm pretty lost in becoming all this frost. Bitter, like Winter. Strung-out like a string of pearls.

My sadness is beautiful. It infuses everything I do. It is at the core of my identity and always has been, just as happiness is in some people. I refuse to be told that it's a flaw. I will not mute it with medications for the sake of society. I will hold it close to me and celebrate it rightfully while the rest of the world fails to see it for what it is and it will be their loss.