I always feel my best with pulsing veins of Absolut or Johnnie Walker neat, or devil’s dust to take away my pain, a thin syringe injecting hell’s deceit. Though sorrow loses strength with needle sting and moods arise with belts of liquid heat, I know the tingling twitch will always bring electric blood when morning comes to greet. But still I struggle with the current’s craze, euphoric numb that always plugs and sways the battle in-between the nights and days, the sunset hour with all its shades of grays where all the choices made are surely wrong- I wake at dusk and start my morning strong.