Drunkenhigh night.

A long time ago, I slipped into slight insanity for about 5 minutes while high. This was the result.

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Please love me -
wait, no, just "love me" -
It can work -
Sleep with me -
Kiss me -
Fuck me -
Love is relative and therefore not definable -
Therefore, you can't define why I couldn't love you -
My dear, I fear I'll never not love you -
Partly painful, partly comforting -
I float in unfathomed places -
You, motherfucker, are the cause -
These places never set me aboard a spiral of self-energy in the past -
For I never knew of them before you materialized -
These fleshy stubs some might call akin to wings have come to feel numb -
I hover now above seas of active ideas -
Wanting to dive in -
Faith is crucial -
Without it not a single activity -
(conscious or autonomous) -
Can remain mobile, metamorphosing, flowing -
They remain soft illusions -
Lighting aflame only when energy appears.

Nocturnal.

Summer nights go by too fast -
not really nights at all, the sun never setting.

Summer nights have a feeling all their own -
closer to a flood of emotion, the dam nonexistent.

Summer nights fuck you over -
getting lost in them, never finding your way home.

Silver lining.

My insides call me forth and I feel a confessional's in order.
The cardinal of my mind bows to the Pope of my consciousness.

How I need to escape, to run.
I need to breathe.

I may have found an oxygen mask;
It's a real shame the extension cord is too short.

A voice from afar (tentative) vibrates into existence from the darkness.
Clear enough in message but raspy enough to reverberate, I almost cry out.

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I can't hold myself together much longer, Voice.
Tonight, I miss you and it stings, Voice.
Hopes are high for clarity, Voice.

I've bet it all and I'm losing, Voice.

Oceanic.

A new feeling settles into my core;
Among all the amazing moments of late, one or several related stand out.

I sincerely, naïvely, truly felt safe.
Figurative arms still clench around me and I feel balanced.

Beer, throngs of people (one single mass), laughter and unity.
Thematically functioning and I swim in it, I'm immersed.

There's an ocean inside of me.

Sleep-coma.

The air is thick with smoke and your heavy breathing.
I'm awake, but still not quite, and the ticking of your clock is the only sound rhythmifying my existence this morning.
It's been light outside
for what seems like years,
but units of time are useless.

Why not measure "time" in states of mind,
or physical states of being?

Right now, it's hunger and weakness;
later it'll be fatigue and in some time,
satisfaction and content.
I live for fleeting moments, praying for something lasting.

My back hurts this morning.
I feel off this morning.
I'm alive this morning.