I Return Again.

My heater is finally working. I had sat, trembling, willing the machine to function. I had sat, staring, hating its unwillingness to respond. It was the impotence that disturbed me. That frustrating helplessness is the first stage of despair, and the start of incompetence. Incompetence is the muddy bog one trods through when dumped in the land of depression. It feels endless, and it often is.

But my heater is finally working. I feel my lifeblood resurfacing. My eyes have opened. My brain is ticking. My breath is fruitful.

I am the Prince of the Deep. And I have emerged from a scorched landscape to come here now. Gaze into my eyes and see my far off pain. Paint my portrait and catch the craters in the background but don't forget the foreground's laughter.

I am the Prince of the Deep because my heater runs once more. I return from the grave with a smile on my face and a glow on my skin. Come to me for warmth. Stretch your hands toward me and absorb the comforting hum--now while it lasts.

I am the Prince of the Deep. My name is irrelevant; my presence is critical. I am at war with the Czar's Army of the Shallow. I am meticulous in my bloodlust. My glimmering sword points to the capitol. It thirsts for oppression.

I am the Prince of the Deep. I am both magician and teacher. I smile forever and hate no more. My scorn is comical; my laughter lies just below the murky surface.

I am the Prince of the Deep, and I return again because I have regained my equilibrium.