There is a balance
Between heaven and hell
Just as there is a balance
Between depression and glee
An equilibrium of sorts
Lukewarm in everything
And somehow it seems far worse
Than both the ultimate high
And devastating low
For you are stuck
Attempting to fight away
The all consuming midnight thoughts
And grasping at loose threads
Of the happiness above
Just slightly too far out of reach
And it's sickening
Stomach churning
Because it's an overall helpless feeling
And all we can do is keep fighting
A losing battle
And we are no light brigade
We may lose
And fall to the depressing thoughts
But we shall never be honored as they were
That memorable line
"Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred"
That is where limbo leads
No matter what
The optimists argue
•••
A/N: Thank you for a hundred reads. <3
This one is kinda weird and it might not make sense. Also if you don't know what the light brigade is I recommend looking up the poem, "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Tennyson. It should explain some.