Day Twelve

And today is another day.
The aftermath.

Depression storms are worse than being blackout drunk. At least being drunk, I can blame the alcohol. With depression, I’m the only one to blame.

But the storm passes, in time, and the clouds pass and the sun shines again.

In time.
In time.

Another drop of that which will surely kill me.

There is no anti-venom to the poison of time.

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