I wrote this Dec7, but couldn't figure out if I wanted to own it or not.
That which you wish, you must ask for... Incoherent rambling, mumbles in the night. The pain that we feel, and cannot make right. The sound of our silence, the fears we possess; risking not, we gain nothing; risking not we possess…
The wine that fuels us, the voda, whiskey or the gin; the glimmerings of a life not this; where do I begin?
It’s not that I don’t know better, it is that I know not. That I cannot imagine a place, a person, a situation… Where I am not caught.
Reason swept aside, the fears rise up
I’m only a man, and fear fills my cup.
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