.
I'm slipping...

Winds from the past had blown hard.
Heavy clouds have returned.
Bearing gifts of broken shards,
memories discarded and mementos burnt.

I'm falling...

Footfalls fail as they sink in clay.
Fingers tremble as they grab at nothing.
The words are lost and the voice couldn't say.
The pills seem to have stopped working.

I'm regressing...

Into an all familiar territory.
A place I thought I had left far behind.
But I feel reconnected to a mirrored me.
The part I've missed since a new state of mind.

.

May I take this opportunity to be plain and simple.
I've learned by speaking less, listening little,
Reading and watching more.
Let's begin with the beginning, something simple,
Birth.
It's universal, a de facto truism.
We've caused it, done it, feared, dreaded, cherished it.
Birth is like unto us a parable.

Which brings me to religion. From being ditch water
to the moon landing and beyond, we've pursued the ideal through
knowledge. One  of our earliest stories tells we paid dearly for it
too; otherwise we'd have grasped thunder and forgone tresspassing on foreign lands.
A favorite quotation convincingly talks about turning into dust. I've seen the hate and violence, and the bodies unearthed weren't even dust. The ragged clothing looked more like us. I think the most confusing quote is about being in an afterlife with your body.
Why? Who you gonna swim with?  

                  Vestal ****** ******. Maintains an Eternal *******.

The poet said, Why worry about death. There's nothing to
worry about.
Hmmm!

So, then, what's up with death?
Well, what I know for sure, is that it's a lot like birth,
With one fatal difference.

Dear Dear:

I heard you're not well, and I'm sorry as hell. Nobody, not me, not anyone we know, could see it coming. Was it metastasized kindness with a primary worry; some say eroded patience and promises, a tightening of throat, are systemic symptoms of a body of hope.  I can send you the quote:

                               Drs. say excessive and extensive heart
                               failure is brought on by an over-exposure
                               to caring, and hence, is co-existent with
                               the rapacious spread of the disease.
                               Fortunately we've isolated the hosts.

I was sorry as hell to hear you're not well, and I asked,
Why you, not another?
But your immune to such an infectious question.
And Dear, I'm sad to say,  there's no remedy. You're  stricken with being a mother.

It is so hard to put into words,
All the ways you make me feel.
At times its difficult for me,
to tell which parts of you are real.

What we have means so much to me
and it hurts to never really know,
if im getting all of you,
or just the pieces you choose to show.

Im trying to overcome this doubt,
and regain my trust in you,
but im afraid and I can't forget,
all the hell you put me through.

You swear youve changed this time around,
youre not who you were before,
But ive heard that line and I,
don't want to be hurt anymore.

If you love me like you say,
then show a little respect for me,
All im asking for is the one thing
youve never provided: honesty.

My head is like a big prison,the two people that occupy the most is anxiety and depression, they never want to leave ,they give me the upmost impression, but they choose not to.