Why I Write?

Despondency cries out to me,it calls me its own.I know my illegitimacy and i know where i stand.I no longer want to understand it,i just want it to end.Several years of multiple failings has scarred me.The joys of this world no longer appeal to me nor do i care to have them back.The only reason i mention my melancholy is in hope to lose it or envelop it completely.The beauty of pain lies in its constancy.Happiness is always short lived but grief lives on.Its existence is paradoxical for while it lives,you cannot live to the fullest.The question of existence is haunting,more so in the context of an existence that is scarred beyond recognition.If it was only a question of grief i would have cowed down but my life is one big deceit!I live life as a lie,so much so that i myself am unaware of my true self.I often contemplate about the past,hoping to find myself but unfortunately all i find are shimmerings of a lost life.Why do i write all this?Is to seek an answer or to exorcise my demons?In this daze of confused existence,all i have is my writing.