She was with me long ago,
shared a love that cast a glow,
but my melancholia held sway.
Our love was real red hot,
searing, burning, like as not,
but my depression had its way.
Sensing failure I’d given up,
began drinking from a bitter cup.
Trusting, she joined me on that day.
It was the river Styx we crossed
in fervent hopes that we’d be lost
forever, yet together for all time.
It was cruel fate that I returned,
to my shame, my wish was spurned,
and intervention was in time.
Ensuing days and nights I find
intrusive thoughts are now combined
with mine, her whispers in my mind.