There definitely exists within me still
a strong, insatiable desire
to create a hauntingly beautiful piece of music
for the world.

But I am clouded over with disillusionment.
I swim through the corridors of life,
aware at least conceptually,
that there is purpose in my being here,
but unable to extricate myself from the grips of sorrow,
which has quickly morphed into an ever-present,
underlying state of low-level misery.

Awareness from my previous forays into the other side—
having once before pierced the veil—
that all is as it should be,
that there is an aching beauty to absolutely everything,
that all one needs to do is accept one’s very isness,

does not save me now.

I surrender to the feeling.
I let it swallow me.