Melancholic Winters

Foggy sky, Dark clouds, Winter nights, Mornings too, Gray highlights, Dead thoughts, Dead eyes, Bloody mouths, Hidden axe, Snowy walks, Unbothered, yet bothered. In both the days and nights, Melancholic nights, Melancholic days, The Moon or The Sun? "Forthwith, anything other than Saturn," -"Why Saturn?" "Ah, 'tis but gas, yet to many, the rings do amply make up for it." -"Sith thou'rt well-versed in the heavens and their mysteries, I shall take thee at thy word." "Saturn, fie!" Forget my foolishness, I stand by my word—"What one feels for a long period of time, it will probably stay the same, forever." My hatred towards this world, Be it countries, Continents, Or specifically people. What a misanthrope I am, "How come?" Even I ask myself. My feelings towards those, I regard them as disgusting, Even though, how I love them people. They all shall hate me, probably. What have not I done bad, in regards to my acts of aggression? Be it not even such, rather simply existing, Aye, I despise myself. Nay, I canst not change naturally. But do my feelings of love align with those of melancholy? Or hatred? Or perhaps they are all natural? Ugh, life.