Post-depression mornings are often so torrid.Many indeed are quite nasty and horrid.You struggle some mornings to get out of bed,So you lie there and suffer and wish you were dead.But somewhere inside does a neurone ignite:"Get up, you idiot,...

melancholy dreams on a sorrowful dayseeding my mind with sadnessa dash of loneliness, a happy look on my faceit's the best I can managesordid little detail... happinesswhen it can be erased in an instantlingering in the shadows, of the...

The Pro’s band took a break in between sets, and I sat there looking at the four shot glasses, knowing exactly who I chose but I needed to get them separated so the pressure was off of me. Looking at...

If my paper would speak,what would it say?Would it push away my pen if I write today?And how would the paper feel? Maybe it would feel oh so special.Because I carved in it words so sweet.Maybe it would fear my...