I dream a little bit about the chance of seeing you, what I would say and what you would. This anguish is terrible, yes, but exhilarating, pornographic almost. It is something and it is real, visceral.
Sometimes I am filled with moments of great clarity, where things make sense. Then others I am unable to move forward.
And I think:
However, the importance lies not in the fall but in the landing.
(so back to daydreams...)
Heaven leaves a scar, too. Drowning in opiate tears, spitting piss-beer, I claimed my oblivion. Bit my lip to blood, and it meant nothing.
Comfort me and send me to morphine sleep,