My mind is a strange place.
Partly wild and colorful.
Partly rigid and tame.
All of it incredible.
All of it tainted.
My mind is diseased. It's called depression.
It taints the messages that my brain sends to my heart.
It poisons words of love.
Words of truth.
Words of kindness.
So I can no longer face myself.
It taints my creativity, dark and morbid. Harsh tones of red color my mind.
Red. And black, stoic and serious.
Both parts of my brain are incredible.
But it is a war to recover it from the clutches of disease.