I used to write dark poetry.
Poetry about sadness. Conflicting Powers, and Dark Moonrises.
The word dripped from my pen, the ink as black and bleak as the thoughts that gripped my conscious mind.
My unconscious mind was worse. Filled with midnight horrors and darkness, I worried it might consume me.
And it did, for a time.
It was bad. I was bad.
Now, though, I have you. You saved me. I could see the bottom, I was riding the endless spiral into the ground and before my head split, you saved me.
Now I write happy poetry. I write for the beautiful things.
I write of the most beautiful thing.
I write for you. Everything that I do, I do it all for you
I owe you my life. I can never repay you. And so, I write.