I Battle Depression
The Eternal Vacation
Tiptoeing upon the razor edge this hollow night I yet hold on to the silver strand. The same four transient walls merge into a long night.
On lonely foggy nights like these, a hand reaches from the fog inviting me in. A grasp that once taken, will ease my burdens.
Most often my mind is whirring with abstract thoughts of stars, of beauty and of loving things. Yet on nights such as this my very room tilts as if to slide me off the edge into the oblivion that falsely seems as a respite.
Often the unloveable, have moments of great insight and expose a truth that most fear to see.
In the end, it is only me, and the shadowy hand beckoning me to walk into the fog
Tiptoeing upon the razor edge this hollow night I yet hold on to the silver strand. The same four transient walls merge into a long night.
On lonely foggy nights like these, a hand reaches from the fog inviting me in. A grasp that once taken, will ease my burdens.
Most often my mind is whirring with abstract thoughts of stars, of beauty and of loving things. Yet on nights such as this my very room tilts as if to slide me off the edge into the oblivion that falsely seems as a respite.
Often the unloveable, have moments of great insight and expose a truth that most fear to see.
In the end, it is only me, and the shadowy hand beckoning me to walk into the fog
51-55, M
