A feeling of beautiful vulnerability and embarrassment dripping down the length of your spine, focused to a float in your chest and a cloud around your neck gently reminding you of wisp-blank intangibility.. it's that feeling of vacuous shame you had as a teenager after ******* when you had to sit and eat and face your parents dinner, and so you sat in afterglow of cloudy sadness as if all could see but the ache of that shame was a wet wet drip-facet alone in grandmas warm house after everyone's asleep you can see the lights of a ski hill in distance-- that lonely place the soul keeps peeking out of and right now it's so beautiful and you can't face a face but ******* the drip wet wet makes you feel alive-- .. it's an openness out of which a flow of melancholy creeps into the solar plexus and jiggles around in your stomach like liquid in a water balloon.. it is the ache of wholeness and the writer of poetry, an angelic potential to death and a demonic potential to life.. existence is wet, soaking beauty and a sadness inseparable from happiness.

This is your brain on fire. This is your brain at peace.