I have

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.

I am 

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

--

I fight 

the Demons.

 

I am 

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 

I am 

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

I fight 

the Demons.

This poem is about: 
Me

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