Freaking rush hour
I am either
Trying to get home
Or get to a flight
This time it's a flight
And there are many cars
Stop and go
Will I make it to my flight
On time
Or will I miss it because of
Rush hour.

Now I can breath in the valley air,
Sans the fear and despair,
Though I have never been to
the scrumptious valley fair.

Stories of the turmoils,
Bloodshed and the toils,
Now I can see the sun
rising from horizon of scare.

Lofty and lushly I hear,
Chinar trees sear,
Blood red, mauve, yellow leaves,
allegorical, the bruise heal.

Insurgence has met its expiration,
Reverent, stands the nation,
And now after the tremulous affair
Let's breath in the valley air.

Bostful, the national pride,
Paradoxical waft shall end,
And as a nation, we stand,
To breath in the valley air.

Cool air undermines
the aphid’s loud assertion
Summer will not end.

Johann Sebastian Bach,
the sounds that clear my mind
a river of memories
... flowing

With every
breath,
filling "Air"
into my soul

I think we call relate to drowning
even if you can swim ,
even if you love water,
even if you feel dry
even if you feel nothing but and endless ocean of nothingness.

if you’re human,
and even if you are not
You know what it is be surrounded .

you know what is to be consumed

to feel like a god
to feel like a mortal
to feel like prey
to feel like predator.

if you’re human,
And even if you are not
you know what it is to drown


and not want to come up for air .

I am still standing on two feet...
I'm starting to put on the heat...
I'm planning to fly high...
Into the night sky...
No one will reach me...
I will look around and I will see...
I will forget all the bad things...
And I will fly on my own two wings...
Up in the air, I can laugh into the wind...
I will leave my sorrows behind...
No heavy rock on my back...
No more things which I lack...
Some people won't notice that I'm not there...
Some people might see that I'm not to be found anywhere...
But I can't really care...
Because I'm here...

what have i become. .
what have you made of me, mother?
what have you sculpted, brother?

carved to perfection,
into an ivory soulless wreck,
a hopeless mess, high off morbidity and agony,

carved to perfection,
to attend to your lavish needs,
of a stripped youth,
hidden under a blood stained carpet floor,

and you do it so lovingly,
as i reach for air,
when you've buried me
six feet under.

Did you ever jump into a very deep lake or pool, you swim up, and you didn't have any air left a few inches below the surface? That's what depression feels like. Every day, with everything you do. You are so far down in the water that getting up for air is not an option anymore. It's easier to just swim down. Forever.