how depression sucks

 

depression is the fallout,

from conclusions that have become landmarks,

from the familiarity of judgements that overstayed,

from cloudy skies made up of self critical remarks,

from emotional gardens that have gone without water,

from playing imaginary hide and seek with no one,

from self-dialogue with repetition, as if lashings,

from internal spelunking having forgotten the entrance,

from negative keynotes that trigger guilty responses,

from monotony's faceless responses as ceaselessly said,

from having wings that don't fly and fins that don't swim,

from incomplete sentences as self-justification inner gab,

from inner tension not previously realized as pressurized,

from states of mind as prisons of residence,

from memories as bleed-outs from crimes of conviction,

from emotional intelligence that seems to fail every test.

depression is the billboard without surface to respond,

a landscape without redeemable features in view,

apparently drowning in an almost invisible pool,

the methods of making, embracing and carrying.

it's all about the nature of conclusionary as reality,

to review who of you is the maker,

the how of you that firmly holds on

and the why of you that carries the weight of it all.

conclusions should have the lifespan of sneezes,

the restart of each new moment

and the buoyancy of fresh eyes, wide eyed 

and zestfully pouring from within.

depression is a cease and desist, 

to the naturalness of being.

self always has circumstance 

as the distractive overlay.

yet, creative endeavoring 

is always a self opening option . . .