Ruins

Laying in the ruins of my own mistakes, Surrounded by the consequences of my own wrong doings, I feel like it would be only a pin to break my back.
I should be happy. I should appreciate everything I have.
I try to be happy, but happiness doesn't last.
Often it's happiness itself that is the pin to break our backs for it is what we have to leave at the door when we return home. If home is where the heart is, I don't wish to be here any longer. I do not wish to be shattered under the pressure of my own loses.
What will it take for us to remain content, for us to be able to survive the day without a feeling of failure, without the realisation that all we wish to be shall never sustain.
How is it that you can dream so sweet among the reminants of all you never wanted when every dream of mine is pain. My every ray of light, a tragedy, for it is the tragedy's that make me truely happy. It is only when I fall to my last thread that I can feel even the slightest bit better, that I can try to remember what happy is suposed to mean.
The single pin that can break a back is no more than the same pin we find in recovery.
The ruins, my only refuge and my broken home.

..Happiness is a vicious cycle, a final mistake..

Happiness

is both the Light,

And the Darkness.