Empty. A poem.
My head hurts. As always.
If I drank, I could blame it on something.
Alas, the blame is all me. Continue reading Empty. A poem.
My head hurts. As always.
If I drank, I could blame it on something.
Alas, the blame is all me. Continue reading Empty. A poem.
Ever had to wait for an appointment, meeting, etc., where you’ve been unsure of what will happen? Your paranoid thoughts tend to get the better of you. Afterwards you realise they were all for naught, and that everything was always going to be okay.
Stop worrying so much. I should take my own advice, shouldn’t I? Continue reading The Wait. A poem.
I hate having depression. It’s not hard to guess what I wrote this poem about. Continue reading Mountains and Valleys. A poem.