I, now, sleep in utter darkness

and wait for light to stop by

at my door, and slowly seep

into my room, my legs, my shoulders

my neck, my ears, and my scalp

I wish luminescence, but only partial

I still haven’t broken up with the dark yet

this light is merely a pension

for all the silent hours spent

in manic contemplation

of impertinent miseries

the sad black that is tumultuous within

is not a monster, is not dangerous

only a strange animal

in an unfamiliar world

that doesn’t fully understand joy

or contentment, mixes with the

wrong crowd, and spirals down

the wrong path

my black, the only depression

i will ever have, is loved

in great measure

for it truly embraces life

when it understands.

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