There are certain days, certain
moments in time — during which,
even as you pierce your way into
one hoping to quickly break out
to the other side — that live heavy
and vivid upon your soul. I’m not
here to suggest that the soul may
exist. It’s just that I am, at present,
and without a doubt, stuck in one
of those moments that, even if I
do break through into the beaut-
iful sunshine-filled blue of the
livable, breathable, imperative
atmosphere, I know that, for
better or worse, if this horrib-
le bubble that threatens to
wrap me eternally within its
toxic nightmare of fog that
burns the guts of who-
ever it is that I am, of
whatever it is that is
me, of whatever exist-
ence even is, that I
will not wander my
last days a pess-
imist. I know that,
even if I’m stuck here
until the stink of solitude
and self-pity sours my
flesh and desiccates
whatever lies beneath
until I am but an un-
godly mound of ash,
I won’t wither away
in this awful state
before something
dispells such a-
typical darkness.
I cannot explain
why I know this.
But I do. And my
odds on what hap-
pens next, if this
is my time, of what
will snap me clean
out of darkness: why,
it will be my one truest
love — yes! of this I re-
fute all but certitude —
who’ll arrive in the
nick of time, pierce
the mantle of this
poisonous world as if
with sword in hand
through the devil. And
as my knight arrives, he
will lay at my face a sin-
gular rose, fresh-cut, dew-
lapped, and more crim-
son than my eyes have
ever beheld. And as it lies
just beneath my nose, giv-
ing my last inhalation such
honeyed intoxication, if I am
then gone, I will have done
so with one final blast that
sweetly envelops my senses
such that I cannot remember
any of the pitiful moments such
as the one I’ve just escaped,
moments of such relative
brevity in this mostly bless-
ed life (and to be stuck in such a
dour moment is not to be living);
so that I may rid myself
of this insignificant blip
of sorrow the same way
I always do, by succumb-
ing to naught but the
joy of the instant,
the now, with my
knight crouched
beside me — an
instant of living,
as if to remind
me that there
is before me
a boundless
future of such
bliss as this,
playing in
endless
loops, loops
which have
held me
captive since
as far back as
I can remember
... inside of this
pleasance, the
softest cocoon
filled with love,
or whatever it is
that has always
embraced me
with arms as if
conjured by
magic, my
body so
wrapped in
gooseflesh
it’s as if my
soul is not
only in here,
but is about
to erupt. As if
something deep
within this con-
tainer of muck
is so drawn to
the comfort of
an embrace,
that it will soon
explode, leaving
only an ecstasy
stuck on repeat,
as if for forever —
or mostly so. At
least long enough
that I live what
must be my very
last moment
dazzled by
the hope for a
lifetime — or
more — of
the same.
