Peaceful souls whose conscience has no reproach succumb to the enticing lure of repose and slumber when the moon rises to its awaking, the endless skies of jet black canvassed with a million flickers of light. Alas, no respite for me as once more I am prey to my doubts, my insecurities, rooted deep like an ingrown tumor, which only grows and grows, gnaws and gnaws away at me.
There is no light where I dwell tonight for even this beacon on which I etch my thoughts in the dark radiates neither warmth nor comfort. The blank page on which I lay these words to rest is an implacable judge, impartial and only concerned by facts. A folly for a mind as bent and broken as mine, which obeys the sole logic of the heart, to the point of driving the very foundations of reason to madness.
Memories flash before my eyes and the darkness gives way to senses: sounds and smells conjured from empirical experiences, distorted with hindsight's acute sense of observation. Youth in streetcars and avenues, swinging like distressed pendulums as they attempt to walk past my ghastly presence. The smell of beer, vomit and piss in dark alleys. The smell of the need of escaping grey days and darker nights by answering the call of soothing bright neons promising illusory happiness and ephemeral pleasures whose remembrance will be hazy at best. I feel lost among the lost, cast away among the outcasts and walking the thin line between the need to belong and the will to become. Become my own ideal, an ideal handicapped by the fears of failing, the fright of flailing and thus I keep waiting. Waiting for a sun to shine again even if its warmth I haven't felt long since.