The highs of hitting rockbottom
I am terrified of feeling too happy. I prefer the cold, balking eye of sorrow instead.
At least it reeks of a promise. Of that gigantic high that comes gushing in thick golden vermilion daubs, syrupy and spangling.
Like electric blue lollies that you see nestled together in tall glass jars at candy stores.
They that leave a tingling, sour feeling in your inky tongues.
Oh yea, I love the slow, roasting sorrow, its hidden twinkle of that gift.
A band of hope knotted around my neck.
I look forward to it…