I can write dark poetry
almost any day of the week
It spirals through my veins
It defines my every blink
…
Days that are good
I rarely express
I’m too busy being happy
To compare them to the rest
….
I’m sorry I’m ungrateful
incognizant, at the least
of how good I got it
every time the symptoms cease...
Poem by @fifty-shades-of-apathy
