I Stand Corrected

I'm sorry. I may have come across a little positive in my latest blogs; conveying a sense that things were going to be okay after all and I might finally be achieving something that had always eluded me: happiness.

I was wrong. I spoke too early. I'm embarrassed now. There is no happiness for me.

This contemptible organ, the brain, what is its purpose but to kill me? How I wish it were a tooth in my mouth that might be extracted.

My heart is heavy and nothing can lift it. It is a stone thrown into its own lake of blood. . .sinking fast. . .

I cannot swallow, the lump is too large.

I cannot breath for apathy prevents me from inhaling.

It seems as if I can only exhale. An infinite release of air that starts once, but ends never.

This body has seen enough. . .

Once I told a psychiatrist who wanted to put me on bipolar medication:

"Look, man. I just want an anti-depressant. I want to keep the mania. Take out the bottom part and keep the top. Cut the string, that's all. Let the balloon float."

"Let the balloon float. . ."

"L et t h e ba ll oo n f l o a t
l e t t he ba l l o o n f l o a t


l e t t h e b a

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a
t . . .