I couldn’t stand today,
So I crawled instead,
Pulling by fingernails bent and broken
From peeling at skin pimpled and scarred.
I couldn’t stand today,
So I laid instead,
On my bed I didn’t make
But borrowed, only the blood stains are mine.
I couldn’t stand today,
So I wept instead,
But the pills have laid thick blankets
Over my body
And the tears tremble up
Only from great depths.
a.e.
A.M. EDMONSON 
Sending hugs and love always. You have the power of words girl
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Hey, pretty good. I mean, not good like HEY isn’t depression fun, but good like the words, but don’t like the fingernail image, makes me curdle.
So when you write poetry does it match your mood? If so, hugs and mugs of coffee and tea, xo
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Sort of kind of not really? I liken it to when I write deep dark horror type stuff or watch horror movies; I’m not in THAT kind of mood, but I enjoy it and it resonates? And with my poems the same kind of thing? I don’t know, hard to explain, but I think I keep a stock of my 3am dark nights of the soul and let it out in spittles to write the poetry. Something like that.
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strokes imaginary beard, interesting, interesting…
I have to be in a good mood, like really good mood to write poetry, even the dark stuff… so I wondered.
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