The abyss of depression is like a giant squid with enormous tentacles drawing you in toward that clicking beak.
A dark place where you are drawn in many directions but without direction.
A spinning place, a maelstrom, where you are borne down into a black hole, a place of confinement bounded only by your own mind.
A place of no escape, no lifeline, no hope and no path back to the top,
Just eternal spinning...

When glaciers melt and oceans rise and people live only on mountain tops, even then will I love you.
When we’ve poisoned all the air and we’re a planet gasping and choking, with my last breath I will shout I love you.
When all we know has passed away and we’re traveling through nothing going nowhere, at the very edge of that black hole my soul will scream, I love you.
But my scream is joined, the silence broken, the dark closes in but the roar splits the darkness, a sliver of light, love escapes.
The person wakes up terrified. Was this just a dream or does the battle continue?

In the crowd I cry out my fears, I scream I shout but no one hears.
I then reach out and try to feel but it’s only air and nothings real.
I hope and pray to God of love but no sign comes down from high above.
So here I sit in the crowd alone, not myself but just a clone...

Escape is always from something.
What that is varies for everyone.
All escape is personal as it is planned and executed by the individual. It may be physical, may be emotional or even subconscious.
The easiest escape is physical.
The hardest is to escape from oneself.
You can’t hide from you...
There is a tether between the past and the future and that tether is the present.
That tether is you...

A title conferred or imposed? One person steps on to the stage, in the spotlight, opens his heart and pours out his innermost hopes and fears. He craves approval but is guarded with the courage that some in the audience may not be receptive to his message. His message is pure and will not change regardless of criticism.
Then, there’s the next person who steps onto the stag but the lights are down. The audience hears his message but wonders if it’s real as seeing is believing. Hiding behind anonymity is cowardly.  In the shadows criticism strikes at the heart of some alter ego and not at the soul of the performer. He leaves the stage never knowing if his message has impacted the minds of his audience as they know not where to direct criticism or praise. It’s been said that”life is a stage”. Can one perform in the dark? Is our faith in ourselves and the empathy of others that weak? OK, turn on the lights...

Acquainted with many, known by none. A trove of secrets carried like cement through the construction of life. So small, so compact yet so heavy. Space so limited though so dominate. I try to lay them down, I can’t. They’re attached and competing with the routine yet apart, a burden that isn’t shared, can’t be shared. Telling is sharing but those that listen will not hear. Will I even exist if I am not known? Can I really be known if I have secrets? So, am I real or just an acquaintance taking up space? I beg to be known, on blended knee, with arms outstretched, my cup held high but life just passes me by...