Depression, a dog stink fur, wet in your stomachs gutter, ***** washed-out all-over feel, no chance of movement from this desolate damp dominion. Heavy, unseen weights pin me down low, no go or muster; no aquatic flow, just prosaic and deaf, unheard, that cracking tick and strike of your inner tormented thunder.

The numbing dull hammer cracks, upon your concrete wet skull; a waste of clock and sun, a lonely moonless turtle touched sand, with tides falsely conjuring done.
A sloth that moves in super glue, a sticking plaster stuck askew on sliced off limb.
Thoughts unable to shift, blinded and hidden behind desperate foggy faraway cliffs.
Black futures call, your blurred vision only mocks the moon.

A black unlucky restless cat, resting high on a pitched prone ladder, a shattered looking glass, a distant sinister laugh distorts all images held in your past.
Thunder crack, a lighting spike, does little to raise your genetic code, it rather Dowses that inclement weather, with aching winds, ***** snow and iced grit rains of old.
Waters flow, twists then eddy’s, cold and dark like the Christmas month, can't get warm or be responsive, just dwell then nod, seemingly in the right social spaces.

Chains then rope, tethered tight, restrained on restless limbs and concrete filled torso; to lift for life and future strife becomes too much like an astronaut’s dream or a matador’s fame, easier to remain in a state of grey static, between burnt wooden floors and empty memories in an unreachable never touched attic.

Wounded damp dog, retreating to nearest black gutter, let ***** cold water wash over and leave it's grime, rats back black run over hairy raised skin, unable to itch plagues remedy with flowers or gin, can’t touch the ***** strain, or play the piano forte of many a ******’s claim.
Sound is dull, dead like empty lift enclosed, the upper floor above is only white and adorned by minimalist art with no restart or comforting parts.