There's not really anything you can do to control these sort of things. The cool evening suddenly slips into the night, dark and debauched. It's something I look forward to, oddly enough. Just because the days are so lonely, muffled together by a mess of distraction and destruction. A wave of uneasiness that jabs and prods, unwillingly.
I don't like it.
But of course not everything can be preferable. If that were the case everyone would love everything and their lives would be perfect and full of the most. But then the most will not be enough, and everything falls back into place.
I was told life is about balance–I believe that.
It's about other things as well like pain and dejection and abhorrence and rage and insomnia and panic. Those are the loudest things. The others are gentle but very quiet.
They come in the night sometimes but it's more of a random draw. A hand dealt not in your favor.
YOU ARE READING
Silverfish
PoetryA compilation of written thoughts, poems, and short stories composed by myself
