Depression

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Depression

by Lishey Hatuma

An eagle soaring without wings

A tree without roots

A river that flows without water

A mulberry tree that bares not fruit in summer when all berries are bore.

A Figtree with no figured figs to figurate its existence in the non-existent dimension of missions

Only accomplished in figures is a blurry negation of Depression.

Depression exists in the eternalness of externalism.

 

It’s no foreign tyrant coming to reign over the sub-celestial realm.

It is not of celestial origin but it is as original as respiration follows digestion

But that’s just a suggestion that needs no investigation it is an instigation without rejection.

As ejection is triggered by ingestion I employ you to heed my expression.

 

Depression is a 3D apocalypse played in the mind of the vas;

It is not an apocalypse; but a relapse: Yes it is an eschaton

I’m biting my tongue in the extol

Twist of the “thens” and the “nows” of the ro-ro rev of revolution this is no evolution.

The paradox remains as it is.

There’s no room for expression when repression kicks the volt that turns depression into obsession.

I fear the woe escalated, emulated and assimilated by the impression given to toddlers toddling around with their minds in their mouths; believing their eyes gods of truth rolling to and fro beholding lies parading as truth.

It is an apocalypse: Armageddon!!!

It is no: apocalypse, but a relapse: yes it is an eschaton!!!

I’m biting my tongue in the extol twist of the “thens” and the “nows” of the ro-ro revs of revolution.

This is no evolution!!! the paradox remains as it is.

 

Oh man… the number of suicide cases escalates beyond the cloud.
Click, clack, bang with every second a gun fired.
Swoosh, slop, slash, there goes another vas of depression joining the vast collection victims gone depression.
Oh depression were you a man you’d have all kinds of corpses for trophies;

From ancient antiques to modern sculptures

Old and young would be yours for the taking.

No! no! no! yes! yes! yes! you cry out to the conscious of the  gone.

You’re master of moving corpses

The empire of a blind nation leading a deaf monarch:

Deaf to morals and truth:

Blind to reason and common sense
I shudder at the sight of you.

I’m sad but know not why

I won’t but know not why

I want to love but hate drags me low

I love white but black suites my mood

Why? Why? why? I Know not, but take note that depression ties knots of ill to will, training gain to drain all the lights leaving the world grey and black.

Don’t think I’m paranoid I’m just a vas of paranoia.

I’ll tune my paranoia into annoyance towards depression

For I ain’t blind

I ain’t deaf and

I know you……

Depression…….

Depression…….

Depression…….

It is an apocalypse: Armageddon!!!

It is no apocalypse, but a relapse: Yes an eschaton!!!

I’m biting my tongue in the extol twist of the “thens” and the “nows” of the ro-ro rev of

revolution. This is no evolution!!! The paradox remains as it is.

#part two coming at your request ?.

 

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