and Fall

Ah yes, how comfortable to sink into something so familiar to your muscles. How easy to remember, even after all this time, what it is to bury oneself in despair, to wrap one's skin in mud until no pore remains that knows how to breathe. How easy it is to turn the air into silence, twenty years of work unraveled by a minor global trauma. You look around for evidence of your toolbox, claw at your skin for the tricks up your sleeve but they elude you. Where is your self-righteousness now?

The hours pass. Eventually you can sleep. The days pass, a life passes, you know there is something you should be doing, you know there are four-leaf clovers waiting outside the confines of your black box it's just, for now, let me sleep, I promise I'll get back up eventually, this is only a minor slip and I'm so tired.

The bottom's not so bad
when it feels like home.