At times I may feel suicidal,
but my idle hands won't do the devil's work.
It's a jerk reaction and nothing more,
as I fall to the floor with my arms outstretched,
and the pain is etched into my face.
But for the grace of god there go I,
into the eye of the raging storm,
engaging the form, rejecting the norm,
never expecting the gifts I accept.
With deepest respect and gratitude,
and an attitude that will never lessen,
I learn the lesson of my depression.
The passion that makes me feel suicidal
is soothed by the calm of my idle hands.
An instrumental contribution from Changnoi: