A Bottle of Memories, a Glass of Pain

On the wine shelf of emotional inebriation depression is by far the finest vintage
Refined by the painful eternities that to others are but suffering seconds
Filtered through the hardened rock of the floor you find yourself hitting with every bitter blow
And in the right amounts an inspirational poison that screams to the heavens and makes demons purr
Depression my old friend, without you I am a sober fool

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