black ice on blue island
and still sunshine in chicago
tears freeze just past your eyelid
and hang on till you find shelter

the song remains the same
mark said it should
and i have to agree
i'm not depressed
unspecific sadness
melancholia
this state of being
is something the winter months perpetuate
but something ever present, even in warm
hiding behind my eyes
and in the words
bleeding out onto the page

much good comes now
pouring out till my cup
runneth over with joy and
calm
i slept last night, sober as a bird
but like i had destroyed a bottle of bourbon

henry rollins said
that to the lonely
solitude is a hard won ally
but i think its sleep
and that the long, terrifying, wonderful trip
that is this life
doesn't require solitude
but goddamn, sleep helps