Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

So this is how the story ends, how the curtain falls on our performance. We’re standing on stage, standing ovation. Looking among the audience, panicked, we search for familiar faces. Curtsy. Take a bow. Offered the bouquet of roses and hold them high above our heads.

Depression is more than just feeling sad. It’s drowning on dry land. A never ending fall. Gravity pushing against itself. The dreamscape with no ending. Minutes spent staring at a screen. Blinking cursor. Skipped meals.

A torn page carried by the wind. The spine split in the middle. A ghost book left in the cart. A state of existence and nonexistence. A process, a thought, unfinished.

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