Build from the conscious pit that is depression. The chasm’s imagination for death is always thirsty. There are eyes burning red, they burn for they are lost in their only animalistic impulse. Recognize those eyes. Fall deep into them and find your way into their lost soul. And with you bring back a piece of their eternal brokenness… and write.
To the manifestation
To recognizing its depth
To what lives in its heart
To fleshing out the dry bones stuck in the miry decay of anxiety.
Everything starts with consciousness. Are you conscious of your own consciousness? I bet you are now. That euphoric sensation of realizing something you have always possessed confirms or reaffirms your ownership of something.