Dark Joy Poem by Thomas Ware

I was severely depressed a few years ago. It was miserable and I hope to never enter that state again. But more and more, even though I am happier now then I've ever been before, I look back to that awful time with envy. Because a lot of art, a lot of inspiration, comes out of pain. Usually lookin back on it, because you're usually to suicidal to think about writing. But it got me thinking. We look at say, Voldemort, for example, and say he had never known TRUE love, never known TRUE happiness. Who are you to say who is happy and to isn't? He seems pretty happy to me, murdering people left and right, with the world as his oyster. I would be happy like that too, if I were evil and psychotic. I don't want people to misconstrue this though. Obviously depression sucks, and those who want to be depressed, who pretend to be, are idiots. But wallowing in misery is pretty comfortable. And comfort is half of being happy.