I want to write,
I say,
stern-faced,
wondering why I cannot.
But then,
I know,
I no longer have something
to speak
about—
no more angst
to ventilate,
no more thinking,
breathing,
living
sad,
leaving me
nothing to say.
And so, in a way—
I suppose—
I miss depression...
but it was
a choice
I made—
a choice between you
and the blackness—
a choice
to be happy,
one that led me to you,
and no matter what
I don’t have to say
anymore,
I have no regrets.

I have spoken.

Author's Notes: This isn't too bad, I guess. I wrote it in mythology class because I was bored and it's more of what I've been putting out just recently. My writing's been sort of bland lately, but as soon as I find some driving inspiration, I'll let you guys know. ^_^ I think this poem speaks for itself, otherwise. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed that! ~MJ
Date of Composition: March...sometime...early in March...?? *too lazy to check*