My mood is a rundown motel room. It’s dull, it’s dingy, and the view from the window is equally hopeless. Maybe there are some things in the room that used to be beautiful, but they are long faded. Hope left town a long time ago.
When there is no more
To hope for I wonder why
Does life continue
I am NOT looking to be told to "seek counseling" or "try meds" or any of those other things I've heard a million times before. I'm looking to express myself. Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft told me that I could express myself through dark poetry. I don't want to make liars out of my longtime heroes by having to waste my time explaining to people that I am nearly 54 years old, I know my options, and I choose to lay it down in poetic form.