depressing authors
and their muse
find their way
through art
and war
as history defines it
time and time again
from rain to sunlight
peeking through the blinds
through every winter
there will be a spring
the rain cant always stay
but I wonder
do depressed authors like it that way
the rain
I mean
i've always been that way
but theres something about your laughter
that makes me think
somethings chnaged
I'm not the same