Tonight, I remember laughter, and victory, and I found myself pacing my room wondering if I could be the greatest at this. I know, I know it's too late, and I don't even think trying would warrant me success at any rate, but as my veins stand out on my hands from the too-fast blood rushing through my everything, I believe anything is possible, everything is within reach. I'm Tantalus, laughing with handfuls of berries and scooping mouthfuls of fresh, perfect water into my mouth.
You cannot beat one with nothing to lose
Why am I awake? It's 1am and I'm on fire - I keep tossing the blanket off the bed, dragging it back up, and it's fifty-five in my room.
I'm beginning to see shapes, vaguely, as in a fever-dream. A mist claws at my eyes, as though I'd passed out and now awaken in the arid desert, and I feel the sandman's dust in the corner of my eye. Quiet, the roads, when everyone else is gone, or not alone as you are. Smokestacks from shacks and cottages in every forest grove beckon, but you know that if you approached, your deceiving eyes would bleed away the home into something homely and decrepit, a vacant, ramshackle witch's hovel, long since left as bones.
The forest quakes, the ents shudder at what we've become, and no less they, the martins whistle appalling remarks at your passing.
Where is the fire if all I can see is smoke?
But it's nowhere, and all places at once; the burning in your gut, the fire in your belly, the volcano rising with your gorge until you finally erupt. Is it fair, knowing that rising to the top requires you stand alone, and surrender guarantees no returns, and together suffers a long, patient road following two divergent dreams with slow, misguides steps. None of these fill your heart, no?
Turn me upside-down and shake me, and I'll glitter like your snow-globe, drop me and I'll shatter, set me on a shelf, and I'll collect dust, void and empty, hold me gently, and I'll melt.
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