Into wind

As is probably typical - who even knows anymore - I come here seeking something.

“There are some things I used to be. Won’t you find the will to just remind me. Because you are so safe inside my memory. And the scar underneath my knee.”

Sounds like screaming.But it is so quiet in here.

She says “Good things come, when you stop standing around. Good things come, when you stop looking.”

But I swear I have been blind now for years.

And of course I want to turn the music up. up. up.

Until it hurts inside my head and scares the hell out of those monsters living there.

I wonder if it is true that your ears bleed when the music is too loud. Or is it just when your brain gives up and runs for the exits.

And this, this is one of those moments when I dream I am drunk, and all of this can be shuffed away as incoherency. And people can laugh, and I can laugh, and we can all smile and nod knowingly - been there before.

But no, there is no simple dismissing. There are no hallucinogens or depressants or altered states. Except for the simple truth of a mind slipping slowly away. And the terrifying vision of watching it happen and the standing by as numb witness instead of blurred victim.