As the dim glow of the slate fades, I reach for the bottle I know to
be empty, its contents having quenched a past fury.
Adjusting to the pale blackness, visions of the past dance on the
walls; good and bad, my friends and my foes, backlit only by a cold
and lonely streetlight.
Lightyears apart, yet closer than ever; inches away, but the distance
is growing.
A car crawls slowly past the window, saturating the room in shadows
as the icy beams unveil scars old and new, real and unreal.
To jump is to fall, and to sleep is to die; but I will do neither,
for I am ready to kill, but too low to try.
