it's morning but the moon is still a lit.
crisp bangs and twangs of sentiments ring irrepressably inside me.
it is always in the dead of night, and birth of the morning,
when thoughts come the clearest.
in the midst of these elations of sense and thought
i drift, drift into an estuary of passive dissidence.
calming laps of untamed emotion rivetted within the
limbic systems of my amygdalae.
as intervals of time age the daunting moon
glissening in its aura, its hazy glow parts the night.
with each succession of its malevalent descant it weighs on my
shoulders implicitly..
oh how i dread such a promised time, of routine mental awakeness:
the feelings of doubt, vunerability, remorse, desire.
self imposed lies bathing my mind with a makeshift sedative.
...these sleepless starless nights of extraversion spliced into birdless
mornings of introverted stillness follow me in my wake
and taunt me into sheets of absence .
'carpe noctem' has never been more piercing.
