Fierce swept demons of rage and turmoil; expecting their want yet receiving disloyal resistance.

Never satisfied from the thirst of unrelenting desire for certainty, frustrated in fits of insanity. The beat continues…

Dissipation is anti-climactic, unsatisfying to a gluttonous hoarder of familiarity. Never quite becoming the salve.

So lay down and succumb to the soothing velvet of green moss and the intoxicating tumble of liquid solitude; enveloping and layering a thickening skin of joy.

Imagine a melting slide of pure being, unquestioned and reminiscent into a pool of weightless flutter; ecstatic without direction and blissful in anticipation.

All that exists now is breath and the pinpoint endlessness of possibility.