It's a pleasant scene really;
calm breeze whistling,
bonfire glowing,
uninhibited chortles rippling through the air.
But I'm not feeling like myself today.
I'm just forcing a smile
through split, bloodstained lips
and the sizzling of alcohol
on open wounds is
amusing.
There are too many conversations.
Entertained by slurred statements
and detached from subject,
I am void and vacant space
occupying this camper chair.
But when a muffled interaction begins, things finally get
interesting.

"You've got a little bit of crazy in your eyes."

The observation haunts me.