These Opiates

This. This is it. The part of existence I’m afraid to
Admit lives. The calm before there was any semblance
Of a storm. The first born. Settling nerves and soothing
Dulcet sounds. Noiseless. Weightless. Proud. The silence
Rings in bells. Joyous, granting sense of self and not a single
Word drops. The sentence never confined to full stops. Free
Caught in the hands of sleep, usually. But now-my soul is awake,
As am I, and there is nothing that can break this warmth. Bundled
In a cocoon of nothingness. No movement. No empty promises.
No explanations. It just is. And beautiful, on the precipice of
Oversharing and over caring, of questioning, everything. Yet still


Half lidded eyes, half lidded smiles. I know myself in the quiet more
Then I do in the waves of life. The rocking of me, beyond free, where
My essence breathes. Belief in possibilities emerges from the sea of
Eternity, the doubt. Self-hatred. Bouts of sad-wash away. Smooth sand
Beneath my feet, heartbeat. Beat. Beating, slow. And let go, soft hands
Caress the mind and I find peace here. The wolves still their play and lay
Down side by side. Designated watchers for the sunrise. And the waiting
Storm. Surprise moulds their faces as they recognise the signs. Howling
In anticipation but I remain blind. This stupor of clear contentment
Chugging through my veins. A drug induced haze of glass. Pretty to look
At but never designed to last. The wolves, they grab me, taking me back
To sanity. And then. Then I was never the same. My soul bobs on a shoreline Too far away. And still, to this day, I reach for that moment when



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