Somewhere I haven’t traveled before. A new dark road. Walking a thin balance beam, neurosis on one side, psychosis on the other.
Everything has changed.
The ghosts of my future finally caught up with me.
The silhouette men fight for dominance. One stabs at my heart with piercing screams. The other smashes a bottle over my head.
My heart is shattered glass.
A war is waging.
Who will win, 3 or 17?
How do you balance emotional turmoil with cold indifference when both play for keeps?
One second I want to cry.
Cry a full drink.
Then I think…
When silence on the outside is drowned by the sounds of a world swirling, the only place to find peace is deep within me.
Everything is noise.
I just want it to stop.
My dreams drip from the page like acid ink.
Tear my heart out like jeans ripped at the seams.
If I stopped talking would it comfort the loss I grieve?
If 3 wins I may not leave the cave alive.
If 17 wins I may never speak again.
Can it be?
Is this the dream I’ve weaved?