The drowning thirst.
I swim each night.
The half empty liquor bottles litter my countertop. While they fail to provide me rescue, it hardly deters my nightly attempt in their liquid hope.
The sun’s glory warms all life just outside my window while the chilling haunt of death peers in at me. Like vulture, it senses my conditions frailty as my mind fills with comforting thoughts of eternal rest.
Watching the sunlight paint across the glass of these bottles, brings luminescence in visual as well as thirst intensity. If only the numbness from emotional pain they offer lasted the lighted hours.
The time when I must act as if all is well, to bring stability to those in proximity. The world has shaken for all who breath and I am not brave enough to stay or leave, only to take notice.
So many walk lifeless in responsibility while others have experienced the great awakening. The realization we create our own prison, and in turn our own escape.
The sun bids me goodnight as the moon softens my rooms view, but nothing for that of my soul. I had survived Genesis and Revelation alike, but not without heartbreak or the knowledge that once more we approach the new beginning.
I always find smile with mans interpretation of Angel, similar in their misrepresentation of wealth, but who am I to tarnish dreams they may have.
Battle torn and facing the new dawn, I looked for answers in bottles bottom, how well I had acclimated, how far I had fallen.