The Things We Do For Love

Teary eyed at the typewriter,

Sketching words in blood,

An exorcism of the soul,

Casting shadows over scars

Framed in smoke,

Eyes closed tight

To capture every single

Thought I’d like to forget,

The kind that lead to dreams

Throwing open doors on 

The subconscious,

That’s where depression

Doth dwell.