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I have the muse of the Dark Angels. I will heed the calls you weep, in sullen, painful sleep. I am that which you fear most and yet lust for at the same time. There are inconceiveable, agonizing seconds when you feel as though you're out of your mind. You are. For you're in mine.
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These Poems are extremely dark in nature, almost to the depths of gothic despair. Some may find them overly depressing and too overwhelming to absorb. I have suffered with Chronic Depression all of my life ~ no medications to date have delayed their raging current, their bleeding stream. I've learned to live with it. It is a dark shadow, and it likes to tease, and dance.
These are the psychic, soul-stigmata spills from that place of dark consciousness, yielded from years of abuse that took me into deep swells of low self-esteem and even catacomb waves of sad, suicidal thoughts. I have been to the Darkside and back and I lay here, touched and forever altered by its cold, ebony tendrils. How or why I lived to tell about it is beyond me, other than to perhaps show others that light is there . . . it is possible, yet often so fragile a beam that we often dismiss its existence. But it does call our name in the echo of its underlying beacon. Do you hear its haunting whisper?
Tred softly, I am the Mud between your toes . . .
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