Cycles

The irony, 
Sweet, bitter irony,
I bask in the fading rays,
Of a forgotten September day,
A day I shall let suppress itself,
In a daily depression,
Locked in a neuron city apartment, 
Until it is nothing, 
But the chipped wine glasses,
That left a crippled memory,
A couple pieces,
That will not fit quite right;
My eyes dance across 
The busy intersection, 
As blue and red,
gray and black,
every color car,
Speeds by,
Listening endlessly to 
The same song on a 
Broken playlist,
The day has come,
Silently seeded itself
In my twisted path 
We seem to have named, 
Life, fate, destiny,
Yet mine is, oh so painful,
A broken marionette,
Being pulled into each day,
As if it were a play, a game, 
I am the star,
Then the day falls away,
Just like the last,
Each under the spell,
Of my mental depression,
Hallucinations, 
Eager to forget and remember,
And forget and remember,

Until it is an unforgiving,
Amnesic circle of sadness,
This day will pass, 
Leaving me in an immediate darkness,
Washing away what remains of the joy's of my day,
Then I will start over, and over,
Maybe one day I'll wake up.