Sometimes, between the haze of sleeplessness, and the release of drunkenness, one may find a halcyon sensation that is brought about by an immaculately constructed song.

In a pre-dawn reverie, I stroke my thumb as I finger the keys.  I don’t recall the emergence of the lines of wisdom that have creased the epidermis.  Yet as certain as the imminent daylight, these lines marking my advancement, are evident.

I want a cigarette, and I can have one.  I made a poor health decision by purchasing a pack last week, to the detriment of my sinuses and lungs.  Yet the draw of the nicotine soul-stroke were prominent.  The drag and inhale are akin to siphoning my aches and lamentations, then releasing those in a nonchalant dispersion of cares.  Immediate satisfaction, it seems, still comes at a price.

I wake today with pain in my hands.  And, I am sad.   I know this isn’t a result of extensive practicing on my guitar.  I’ve neglected my music pursuits of late.   The pain was from hauling and moving large furniture items to prepare for a holiday sales environment.  I can’t recall when I last looked at my hands and was aware of the beauty they produce.

And yet I stare at them with disdain.

I abhor my own limbs.  My psyche makes assumptions on my inadequacies.

Of accomplishment, we are our greatest betrayers and saboteurs.

When staring at the abyss, what if we only stare at our fractured souls?

Humbly _____________