When Melancholy Calls

Unrest written on the walls,

a restless sadness sewn into your marrow.

From composed to utterly anxious in a manner of seconds,

wading through nothing but pure darkness.

Madness, they used to call this.

Carrying past lives around like the photo of a dear departed lover.

The burdens of your ancestors, kings, queens, slaves, grandparents and parents – all the same,

rushing through you, blurring your senses,

buried in your very essence.

Search deep down and you can find it,

drag it out from the great abyss.

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