Jan 97~ Demons

Demons knock upon my door, but I am not afraid. They are my demons, home for a visit. How long will they stay this time? Weeks? Months? Perhaps a year? Will I tire of them? Will I want them to leave like I have done so many times before? Why am I happy that they have arrived? Why am I glad that my soul is now once again tainted with depression? I now think more, diving into places in my mind that I have been happy to leave alone before. Letting the things that I have surpressed before float freely around my brain. The heavy feeling of despair accompanies me in my chest where ever I go. A familiar feeling that leaves me almost content. Can depression make you happy? Is that not an oxy moron? IS that not impossible? But has my life ever really made sense? Chaos is comforting and peacefulness leaves me uneasy. I scream just to hear it, to break the silence which I consider almost evil.