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Emotional Suicide



Continuity of contemplations,

Yesterday gone by,

Catalyst of catapulting concentricity,

Like hell,

Only opposed,

For those seeming endless hours endured,

Tattered tears of troubled tears,

Reveal Hemingway’s hidden truth,


My invisible doppelganger sings out;

“The world breaks everybody;

And afterward,

Some are stronger in the broken places.”
Broken places,

The caves of dialogues with Plato,

Wherein shadows portend light,

And light seems a forgotten meme,

Like a vanished childhood memory;


Recaptured with the taste of a candy apple or cotton candy,

Or dirt;


Simplicity refined,

Ill defined and unwritten,

Until now.
Emotional suicides aside,

For now,

The cave dwellers,
I and I and I,

Elect to reemerge as chosen light,

For the light we have chosen,

I and I and I,

Seek clarity, knowledge of self(ves),

Nosce Te Ipsum,

To triumphantly engage,

In the most precious journey,


Let this cry ring out,

From broken soul



To broken souls,

This light is not the end of the tunnel,

But the tunnel itself,

Neither pessimism nor cynicism,

Can or will alter Sender revisited,

Rejuvenated, restored and improved.


Let these cries be perceived,

To all those searching,

Walking the daunting paths of Dante’s design,

Feeling entombed,

Dash forward, ever onward,

Tunnel and tunnel more,

Until this universal truth becomes as real for you,

As I and I and I.


Words can seem empty,

Feeble and pedantic,

Yet as I climb from this cavity of interminable despondency,

I and I and I stand witness(es),

Bold and humbled,

By the fire inside,

That is the light;

Emotional Suicide be damned,

And art on,

Whatever that art may be

For therein lay your (OUR) liberation,

And utter determination,
I and I and I’s art is simple,

An authentic life;

Non Omnis Moriar.

Sender D. MacLean



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Depressions Haze

The conspiracy of the depressed mind,
Profound and wide reaching,
Deep into the furthest bowels of despair,
Leaves the body listless,
The torpid reality of transcendent experience,
Robbing the cradle of energy,
Such that the body becomes a prison,
The mind a penitentiary,
And the soul a vagabond,
As if on a runaway train,
Cattle cars filled with emotional pickpockets,
Each waiting, in turn,
To supplement a growing distress,
Where one and one do not make two,
Where one and one are as irrelevant,
As the day of the week,
Or the hour of the day.

The depressed mind is an anomaly,
One that feeds off its own irrationality,
Presented as personal truth,
Alighting an insecurity which rises above all else,
As war declared between separate parts of self,
Reveal a bitter tyrant,
Hell bent on psyche’s domination,
Where I become we,
We becomes three,
These battles of intense denigration,
Belittle even the minor successes,
As Black Dog becomes more readily apparent,
Day after day,
Running roughshod over rationality,
It’s carte blanche of mental anguish,
Inflicted disagreeably without control,
As the body becomes its slave,
And it will not be leashed in.

The conspiracy of this depressed mind,
Reveals a struggle that no one man, woman or child should have to fight,
Suffer the indignity of sacrificed self,
No longer sovereign within,
There shall be no purveyance,
Short of chemically induced malaise,
Tortured existence,
Whereby depression requires and conspires,
Efforts that when unchecked,
Leave the body ragged and destroyed,
Sweet sleep,
A distant memory,
Leading further into the Black Dog’s lair,
Where redemption,
Seems like a cruel and twisted joke,
Played out daily,
On the victim,
Of depressions haze.


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