A note about the previous post, a poem called “Thoughts”:
Depression is a black bastard and isn’t kind. Even when everything is, otherwise, great and I am celebrating an anniversary with my wife, it is coiled around my heart and has sunk claws into my soul. I can’t escape it. Sometimes all I can do is exercise the demon and express what I’m feeling. The catharsis doesn’t exorcise the demon, unfortunately, but that’s the life I live. Sometimes the petals are rotten and black and the thorns poisoned on the roses I stop to smell, but that’s the life I live.
Actually, sometimes I think I live two lives, one foot in black depression, one foot in the light of normal life, and my heart, soul, and mind split in between the two, forever vacillating. Sometimes I think the light side is really me and the depression the aberration. Sometimes the dark side is completely my life and the light a cruel disease.
At any rate, I am always weary of the struggle. But that’s the life I live.
Hence the poem.
a simple man 