And why should I wake up, and what for?
My dreams are more pleasant than my days.
Darkness eats my days, though I abhor
The process, I am helpless to erase
The code that casts my future in a bag
Meant, perhaps, to drown some hapless cat.
My life’s such an excruciating drag
All my expression lines have fallen flat.
It’s worse than Botox to be squeezed like this,
To have your personality becalmed.
If there’s a devil, did his Judas kiss
Pickle my ego until I was embalmed?
The dead are walking; I am of the dead
Although this whole scenario’s in my head.
I continue to wrestle with the demon of depression, as the poem above demonstrates, but I have some reason for hope today after talking with a spiritually-minded friend. He sees the good in everything, I see separation everywhere. And separation is the fall, some say the fall from union to isolated ego. I don't know. I do know it is not the public "persona" that is saved but the true man of the heart, the woman of the hearth, the wanted-to-be self. Perhaps the road to hell is not paved with good intentions; perhaps our good intentions are what deliver us to heaven.