#connotativeexpressions

I’m a photographer going through old prints. You’re a talent of intimate candids from 2009. He’s a collector; $750 negotiated. You’re an offended claimant with an injunction that prohibits publication. He’s a serious deal. I’m a sentimental and penniless artist.

Mind blank in thought, trapped in a monotone tune. Density deserted atmosphere, space abandoned the galaxy. The view is a flatted gray--brighter than a hopeless black, but filthily staining an impure white. The phrases “lost in space” and “following a train of thought” become a fantasy--an idealistic, unachievable luxury.

So with the absence of functioning mentality, the flesh’s senses are drugged with sensitivity. Every ticking minute seeps through the skin, pricking bones at their joints. One can only dream to count down weeks while suffering a ritual turn of the earth. Twenty-four hours a day underestimates the unbearable cycle. The wrinkles age as turning clocks suck the blush from the my cheekbones. I can feel it.

Perhaps we are all slaves to love.

We chase the impossible and cling to bitter denial. We take suicidal leaps, knowing the fall is closer to death than hell itself. Yet our loyalty abandons all piercing signs of safety, all help for survival. Fighting is no longer a fight when losing is winning and living is dying.

When will we come to our senses? How did we get to the point of sacrificing freedom for gaining emotional chains?

Bountiful life one soul can bring.

To another drawn between sorrow and fling.

‘Rest assured’ one long awaits to hear

When burdens meet support, and pain relief.

Gone are the days of empty cries,

With age old grief and tired tries.

Can such occur from just one soul?

A reality of freedom and peace behold?

Questioning may be the challenge,

But disbelief is the concluded sin.

For an empty spirit equals an individual barren,

Like a dead bakery to an empty flour tin.

Love brings hope, and hope resurrects

To define it as pain and torture is an ultimate understatement.

Desperation skins your flesh when you’re wide awake.

It eats the deepest part of your blackhole like cream--easy, swift and light.

Desperation numbs your senses, to taste life and feel the slightest hint of reality.

It blinds human nature, robbing you in broad daylight.

Numbing as your days may seem, depression awakes your soul--allowing you to feel the death of your senses.

In contrary to the obvious, depression is the realest sensation found.

You realise life of what it truly is, when all the sugar has been licked clean.

As the burn sinks in to your bones like blood in the veins, depression is the best wake up call.