Illicit. Will it, but yet remains undone. Yet as in, has been, but is no longer--And a desire survives and thrives, seeking at least the minimum.

I lay in wake. Do you rest in sleep? In dreams? My hopes are the night-world of sleep are about anything but me. A blistering chest suggests to stray away from such blasphemous jest, and hilarity ensures! She can not hold interest in the likes of fools!

The time of Orion-rise nears, and there are promises about i fear cannot be kept. Despite these clear days and amid such vague nights, she often fills the thoughts of my mind, swirling about my skull in more intense ways. That love of my life may never pervade this mind, but i wonder, perhaps, that it does not have to be such a gruesome memory. Those times were filled with a yet to be matched joy. Yet, i wish to be alone.

The newest chapter of this life has been clearly marked with my departure on the 9th of May. It has only really been three months, yet the impact has been substantial. I know not where this will go from this point. I feel as if i am in pieces, and how i place them together while i am staying home will determine things i cannot even yet fathom! Joy will need to be obtained in new ways.

Inspiration leaks down into view from familiar sources, but my view, i fear, has become quite stale with recent familiarity. But there are sources i feel have only begun to emit energy; sources that remain nearly untapped and seem to be pouring of copious potential. There, inspiration beyond recognition fuels my days.

Rest dear friend, your time awaits.

Fleeting fronts of anticipation have been leading this life for these past weeks, and i am drowning my sorrows away! I only seek to relax the sore depths of heart; tranquil desires with such an inescapable depth. Chill, to meet the heart halfway between the moment and serenity--Sincerity! Am i still babbling of such concepts? Of course, set before me, forever more!

Vices set a place of comfort, do not put in a sense of rapture! This is only to keep self-destruction at bay. Vices, and a cool August morning breeze, tasting as sweet as fine liquor and feeling as smooth as soft hands chilling a spineless soul attached to skin and bones.

But the sky has been so clear these past dozen hours or so. What does that leave in store? Perhaps more revelations in the form of verse are to come. Or perhaps flickers of life, scenes of torture will disperse!