Deep thoughts don't come out of shallow pain. You have to be there, hundreds of feet, tumbling down the blackened abyss of your brain and actually fight, claw your way out, slip kilometres back for every inch up and finally, finally see the sunlight once again. You have to shield your eyes at the sudden brightness you have lost a habit of feeling and repress the strong urge to fall back into that pit you crawled out of, because it's the only thing that feels familiar, sickening as it may seem. You have to fake the smiles at the beginning, make temporary umbrellas to hold up against the cascading tears, wait until they become actual rainbows. You have to let even a tiny bit of colour creep into the midnight stained thoughts and not be terrified of the vibrant pictures it will begin to weave, just because you let it come in. You have to learn to leave the broken pieces you find here and there, as they are; instead of trying to fit them back, because that can't happen and you'll only end up hurting yourself on the jagged edges. Instead, you have to learn to look at them differently. Mosaics are beautiful, aren't they? So no, deep thoughts, do not come out of shallow pain. You have to drown and be resuscitated for you to know what it feels like to weave words into poems.