under pressure

there is depression that is understood by setting in a window in a raining day, smoking and watching the rain puddle in the street…
there is depression that is understood by setting alone in a coffee shop stirring your up and wondering if there is truly a need to continue living. Staring into the darkness of your cup, looking for the sweet release of life’s daily drudgery to what ever there is we imagine behind the curtain and with a small sigh, we either take the jump or go to bed…
there is depression that boils like cooking oil, flat, molten and unrevealing. a tar pit made to slowly digest light and love and things gone by. made to pull at you, strip you until the only thing you know is, today is today and you beg for no more tomorrows.

there is a depression that sings the most beautiful song inside the tears and screams. it wraps itself around you like a warm blanket and dims the lights and holds your hand and sings to you the glory of your failures as a lullaby until you sleep. it will offer you the dreams that sooth your heart and still your mind only to take them with the light of day…

and then there is me…