Interlude.

     The entirety of my life is constructed of a cycle of circles, and I'm finishing up another round. Frustrated scribbles on off-white paper, a mix of black and blue ink. Memories absolve like smoke rings, and fade before my hand can reach to grasp them. A weight on my rib cage, a question attacking like sharks finding the scent of a flesh wound; Was my time wasted? Were my experiences worth the mistakes... Perhaps things were just meant to happen, but as of right now it's hard to understand. 

     Fifty-fifty the thought process consumes, and I'm left to be referee. To be careless and free, or contained and semi-comfortable. The length of living is short, a wave to shore that is over in but a blink. Fight to put the past to bed, tucked in and drugged with a cocktail strong enough for it to never wake. Anger can be so incredibly empty, like carrying a stainless steel box of nothing. Forgiveness seems sort of cliche when you are lacking an entity to push it off onto, so I'll forget and send it out for the ocean waves to mutilate. Exhale and allow particles of sunlight to disperse through the blood stream. 

     This war was over years ago, I've been knife fighting with ghosts for too long. It was strange looking at my wounds and seeing only scars. Perhaps confusion plays a part, or maybe it's the similarity in scenery. There is a need spreading like fire inside to find an exit and run. Someplace new, where no one really knows me. Where I can close my eyes and let peace fill my body until it overflows. Where waking up isn't exhausting, and where my dreams can manifest without threat of a wrecking ball, or flash fire. Breathing in these toxins for this long made the cigarettes taste like cotton candy, and the alcohol pour down like rain water. I've been a zombie for quite a while. And,

     I'm so ready to start over again.