cold room

I think writers
sometime like to
make themselves
unhappy
because they think
they can write
better sad than
when they're happy.
There's something
about misery that
unlocks a
vault in the mind
in good times
a little space
unseen in good times
a cool little castle
where all the doubts
and fears and 
honesty is
stored for a sad
and rainy day.
Sometimes you can
trick the lock
with drugs and
alcohol
sometimes make
the bolt turn when
you're really not
that sad and down
but I suppose your
mind knows that
once the flash
is gone
the grief is
sure to follow.
I've written
thousands
of poems and
all that even
approach being
good were
written when I
was inside that
dim and cold
little room,
peering at the
corners
looking for a
way out.

We all talk and
dream of walking in
the sunshine and
living happily
ever after
but that's all
bullshit
we'd all perish
without
that cold little
room of dread
inside us.
We need it to live.
We need it to
keep alive
the hope that we
can write.


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