Tangled in mixed emotions, I find myself spinning easily and beautifully in soft chaos over the edge of that darkened cliff which sleeps quietly in it's fog of night, peacefully awaiting the hour of my ritualistic visit of finding myself stumbling and falling that silent fall.
As smooth and deep as a brush stoke of thickened red paint on black canvas finding itself pool then run eerily similar to that crimson drip, violent red in sweet satisfaction that I've been lost to for far too long. I embrace myself and close my eyes this time in acceptance of my tormented fate... why brace for a fall I've experienced in the same melancholy dread over and over again in dull and weary entrapment?
Why not this time.... close my eyes and simply feel the decent and in some way allow the loss of control to carry me there and back again without the fear.
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