Intoxicated intoxication: a river of unseen bleakness surrounding the enviable bliss of forgetfulness. Truly bliss? The ability to lose what hinders, what inhibits, what protects is: both blessing and curse, a detriment to growth, an aid to self growth, a challenge to overcome; but when it affects others and changes their perception of integral moments between... That's when it makes absolute chaos in the gut, a torrent of self-imposed agony trying to free itself in other modes of expression.
I've already shed the stinging rain and said my part. Waiting is the next. Anticipating is the whip stinging across my ear, whispering lies and unfurling schemes yet unknown. Where I was falling now seems uncertain. Whether I should fly away and apart or continue to the ground is beyond foresight. The quiet hurts... five minutes is an eternity.
An intoxicated night is a second. The darkness stretches infinitely; and behind it lies a story that wishes not be known. Enough is framed to poison. Hope persists that the picture doesn't scare away the muse.
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