A Bottle of Southern Comfort - Part One
I thought I was feeling better ... but tonight, Southern Comfort is my friend. I can guarantee I'll have plenty of random thoughts; And I will be feeling sorry for myself. I will feel angry for the hand life has seemed to turn me. When I wake sober, I hope to be thankful for the hand life dealt me. For now, my melancholia has sensitive way of making depression a thing with false beauty. Depression is gray and cold. Your world becomes damp and there's a loss of any remote joy down to your fingertips. Melancholia sets an illuminescent haze over the frost, casting a fascinating sad characteristic, almost making it endurable if only for it's ability to eclipse the darkness underlying it.
In a way, melancholia can be perceived as a beautiful monotonic art form ... until it pulls you under, you sink to the bottom and you drown in sorrow. Melancholic sorrow. Your consolation prize will be that you believed it was all so beautiful on the way down to the ocean bottom.
I thought I saw my father tonight in a white shirt and blue jeans standing in the hallway by our picture wall. It looked like he had just come in from working outside all day. I had to look twice, I couldn't believe it.
In a way, melancholia can be perceived as a beautiful monotonic art form ... until it pulls you under, you sink to the bottom and you drown in sorrow. Melancholic sorrow. Your consolation prize will be that you believed it was all so beautiful on the way down to the ocean bottom.
I thought I saw my father tonight in a white shirt and blue jeans standing in the hallway by our picture wall. It looked like he had just come in from working outside all day. I had to look twice, I couldn't believe it.