I wonder if depression
seeks out people who are like
amplifiers so that everything gets
turned up. I was a slow river and
you came at me like a flood and
somehow I knew I couldn’t take
you for long, but you made me
feel alive. As you left, you told
me my sadness took up all the
space and there was nothing
left for you. And maybe I need
to find someone that fits better,
but I miss the way you made me
raging; I miss the way you made
me feel everything.
Everyone has a 2am and a 2pm personality. I’m more interested in the monster you become at 2am rather than the human being you pretend to be at 2pm.
We aren’t suggesting that mental instability or unhappiness makes one a better poet, or a poet at all; and contrary to the romantic notion of the artist suffering for his or her work, we think these writers achieved brilliance in spite of their suffering, not because of it.