Prelusion

What is it exactly? To be whole?
To actually feel whole?
Have you ever felt content from the inside out?
Is that not what we collectively seek?
Is that not what it's all about?
Can time be classed as wasted when it's spent searching for a feeling?
Is it tangible?

Happiness & wholesomeness are not destinations, not places you can simply jet off to.
Wouldn't it be glorious?
To pack a suitcase full of our wonders, wants & curios.
To arrive at this resort full of sunshine & live eternally happy forever?
But not too much sun because you know, I'm Irish.

Every journey shares it's own hardship.
To be sucessful, to pull it off -
It's all in the steering.
It's where you chose to rest a while.
And where you chose to anchor.

I can't ever pinpoint when or why a drop of happiness might spill on me,
yet little by little it does.
And it gradually ignites like a line of gasoline with each petroleum breadcrumb bubble of good I trail behind.
My eyes linger as the cigarette ash curves as it burns.
Ashes, fragile as they are - sticking together.
One weak move & they're dust.

I smoked partly because I hadn't wanted to give up
and partly because I was afraid of how strong I would become by taking deep breaths alone.
Inhaling Life.
Exhaling all things poor for my being,
Learning to make decisions on impulse - entirely based on who I am, not who they want me to be.

Anxiety is always there though, near by at best.
A shadow that just lingers around for the most part.
Somedays are a little brighter, a little easier to brush off,
Somedays I dance with him.
One day to my song, another to his.

We forget to remember that it is in fact possible to live a while alongside your demon.
Whoever he is; and at the same you work out how to slay.
Don't they say actions speak louder than words do -
it's pretty quiet isn't it?
Take the good with the less ideal.
The cure to pain isn't something you buy at liqor stores,
it's hidden in those quiet moments;

the beat of a kick-ass song,
the hum of a powerful Harley,
the ripples in the ink cartridge of the pen she so firmly caresses
the doubtlessy specific song lyrics that whip the wind from her chest.

She sort of fell in love with the pain, slept with her regrets.
Happiness saw it happen.
Maybe, that's why she up & left.
Elation called her a cheater, said she ain't ever coming back.

All she left was the sound of her voice echoing
All things come from nothing honey, if nothing's game.
She screamed you can bite your bottom lip all you want.