tempest shot through the eyes

Tonight I should be able to dredge up the ocean, like the night sky, glittering with everything dead and gone. I should be able to bring down mountains, reduced to pebble and seed. I should be able—

I work my best when I am coming to pieces, all the electricity arcing around my head, fire on my tongue.

You have to realise, there is more to life than a lot of things would tell. Our brains glue so thick to the small days that fall around us. But you have got to cut free. You have got to climb so high for clarity. Whatever is striking us down, never really enters us. We keep our sparks, the only stars still alive. Winking between storms, we keep floating.

So I stand on the edge of three months, and dark days. Three months that could mean a career, something shitty and sustained, a few coins to keep my pockets busy. Dark days that I don't have the answers for, not yet.