His name is Melancholy, Misery, Dejection, and Sorrow all at once.  He is pain in the simplest yet most complex form.  He is disaster.  He is the hate in the world and the sight on our screens.  He is us.

Whenever he finds a happy soul to latch onto, he will grasp, tight, and never let go. Think of it this way, a huge drop of thickening, bitter, molasses; unescapable, Following you until he catches you.

As he wraps around your feet, slipping up your ankles, you can’t escape him now.  After the course of about a month to a year he’s made his way to your aching chest.  Looking down on your feet, he’s gone?  No, he’s seeped inside you. You’re the molasses.  The thick feeling, pulling at your chest he takes all the confidence and self-love you have and rips it right out of you, along with your energy.

Right when you try to find a bit of happiness, he pops back in to make sure it doesn’t continue. He gives you some other feelings, however!  Stress, loneliness, Anger, and sadness in its purest form, self-hatred any negative energy. He is deadly, he is us.

Two years. He has made his way and now your blood that was once so grand and innocent as water, is thick as tar and dark as black. Molasses. For some, he pushes you so far, you kill your precious self in hopes to delete him. For others, they scrape their beautiful skin in hopes that he will seep out of their arms, thighs, and hips.

In your brain he says “you’re sick” whispering painful words.  He is hurt. Melancholy. US.

Dear molasses,
Water down, dissipate. Leave me and these sorry boys & girls alone. Thousands of us have lost our fights. You’re a killer; you need to find the death penalty. Thousands- Millions of innocent lives suffer. And we intend to stop you
-The unfortunate ones