Anticipation climaxes
the moment you unscrew
that seal tight jar
keeping hazy secrets
locked away.
    You're about to touch the
    snow-kissed mountain tops
    and breath air so pure,
    it distorts the very heartbeat,
and that feeling granted only by the enemy
--sobriety--
drags you to hell itself.
It gets off tormenting your every particle of being
but you're clouded in a smokey shield and
wielding the winning sword colored ash black
  (obsidian
     volcanic
       explosive)

Defeat is on the horizon
and you're so high above the battleground
that a giddy serenity enfolds you into the
golden-dipped sunset

But the height only lasts
for as long as you hold in
that choking air

and it's gone

and your sanity returns

and you've never felt
more insane
than ever
before.