Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

This could be going better.

The bleary headaches.
The fuzzy mornings after.

The promise.
The confide.

The terrible wake of feeling
and not.

This morning.
It was gone... I couldn't imagine the face.
Couldn't draw, recollect, or create.

Just wasn't there.

I felt like there should be more.
Something that hurt.
Something missing.
Something dead and dragging...

Freedom.
Horrible
Horrible
Freedom.

I found myself in strange
alert
sober states
in strange
orange
places.

Hilltop dusks.
Smoking a cigarette.
Rooftop sunrises.
Smoking a cigarette.

Where was the end,
where was the start?

If I face the wrong side of the wrong day
does it really matter?

And more importantly
have I ever, really been here before?

Maybe not so much here
as been.