Submit-
to pleasure,
to white,
winter wonderland.
My turn.
My ride.
My fall.
My climb.
Astonishing,
how opaque it is.
How my eyes see everything,
but really nothing at all.
It is beautiful,
my shield, this white.
My turn.
I blink,
it grabs me, steals me.
This cunning white thief.
My ride.
Fast, smooth,
I think I've left my mind
some place far behind.
Unfortunately, in time, it will find me.
Yet for now, I am emptier.
Liberated, without my mind.
I don't need it. Not now.
For I am filled full.
But lights, this song, euphoria-
they don't weigh much.
Really nothing at all.
Really fleeting is all.
Why is my white wonderland
no longer so white?
My shield-
it is just dust, blown out of my hand.
It deceived me, I deceived me.
My climb.
Maybe not today,
I don't need it, not now.
I try to move,
but I'm too heavy to stand.
It always surprises me,
the weight of my mind and of reality
once they find me again.
It drags me to the bottom of nowhere,
this mind inside me, this cumbersome mind.
And so, I will take my turn,
like always before.
I will take my turn, on my ride.
The one that takes me up from the bottom,
to somewhere I've been before.
Somewhere that feels new. Every time.
I will wait for my white wonderland,
for my shield,
the opaque barrier,
between me and whatever is on the other side.
The white blinds me, robs me of my memory.
Steals over my body.
Thanks god for the white thief, for his theft.
For I'd rather be stuffed full of nothing,
than full of what awaits at the end of this ride.