All in the Appraisal

One man, alive.
If I may assert so much, I feel open wide,
heartbeats like echoes of this pulsing life,
radiating warmth through me and quieting my mind.
Keeping me afloat for a while as stability unwinds.

I've spent too much of my life angry about being angry,
sad because I'm sad.
This feedback loop tripped on and off like a big blaring lie,
I won't listen anymore, it's a waste of my time.
Gaining insight, seeking confidence, but wired to find all my flaws.

My love, dysphoria blinds.
Pessimism sweats out my skin and gets into my eyes.
It feels more [bad word] than hope and it's more able to survive.
It's pathways have more muscle than the fleeting joys of life.
My thoughts are chemical mistakes and I am my own crime.
Dopamine remains in short supply... In short supply...