one single saffron dress that is flaw-
less is more so it might be
respectable not by default but through
Necessity fights against
Depression is truculent and holds a grudge against Happiness.
wearing saffron at the funeral Depression orchestrated for her
Body and Mind turn against Soul as it runs towards Lies.
Do it, Death whispers, coaxing
the Demons in her push against
Reason is what I am and I
Am the only voice of Reason in this
fight for her life or forfeit the
battle must be fought. Is this worth it am I enough can
“I hate me, I hate me, I hate me,” she cries.
“I need you,” she means to say it, I know she does.
“Keep her alive if you dare,” Depression whispers in a voice that is so truculent that
hard at work
day in and day
out in the cold hard
rain is hitting the pavement and Death is soaking into her Mind and
wearing a dress of
Saffron is the color of my
Attitude is what I strive to keep
Positive and uplifting are my
Words matter almost as much as
joking around seems to help more than the pills, so I joke and I laugh and I plead and I beg for her to
smile and the Demons shake and quake at the sight of
Happiness is my right hand-
man, it’s hard to keep smiling. On my left you see that I am dripping with
tears soak the ground and my resolve is strengthen, so I
Get up, Love says. Put on your solider’s
Armor is saffron and Fist is
iron clad but my eyes are clear because