The great depressive slug. This is how society likes to portray depression. As if it's a slow constant moving slug of sadness, that slides over you and holds court. The reality is little slugs full of potent depressive poison that get rained down upon your path of life and when you get caught by one you freeze up in anxiety while burning up in despair leaving you frozen in ashes.
The storm always seems like it came out of nowhere but storms always brew when the sun is out. The slugs come out when the weather changes when the winds of change and uncertainty blow through the desert of stability. The mirage of stability parches your soul; leaving dreams to die scorched by illusions of freedom.
Snakes of dreams slither through the sand of expectations, rearranging their ideas into plans of independent creation. The lack of ability to look up to the storm clouds creates flash flooding funerals of aspirations. Slugs claim martyrdom to justify their cause, fueled by ashes of despair mixed with the poison of depression.
Depression is the entire desert filled with different options to embody depending on the person, place, and time.
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