Article voiceover
Here comes the change of seasons— summer becoming autumn; green becoming red; red becoming compost. This time is when I find the forgotten dollar bills, shopping lists, and ghosts in the pockets of my warmer coats. This is the season where my mood becomes grey, becomes the lonesome neutral against which the fallen leaves are bright and brutal. This is the season when the bipolar demons slouch into my room and want me to suffer from incandescent laughter and dance ecstatically with doom.
I hope this time you find not just forgotten dollar bills in your pockets, but also the strength to fend off your demons.
Sending love in any case.
A frightening poem, really--yet oddly exhilarating.