When happy was a memory
and joy was theoretical
and talking of recovery
was mostly hypothetical
I plumbed the depths of my dark soul
and found no end of fodder
for prose and poetry galore
in dark and murky water
But then one day a tiny shard
of chemic formulation
wormed silently into my mind
achieving penetration
and suddenly the gloom is light
and all is not for naught
the hellish swirl of turbulence
with solace has been shot
and now I find that I can sit
and think of nothing dim
my chances now of angst-y prose
are ever growing slim
No matter how I sit and try
my blues are washed to gray
much to my anger and chagrin
I’ve nothing more to say.