long roads with no fuel stops...
Music is my closest confidant in this transition period. No one else will see these things or hear what needs to be said. My stealth bomber floats along the rural stretches, consuming the length of the road, fueling and driving my thoughts, my emotions. Changing like the leaves, burning out until only the brittle skeleton is left, quickly crumbles and blends into the soil, distinction lost, the dull ache of absence. No place to place the feeling, no direction to hurl this darkness in. It boomerangs back most of the time. Like moths on coats in your attic, invisible, each time you take a look there's a new piece missing, you never see them taking their bites out of you, only noticing once it's gone, trying to remember what it is that's absent. It's freezing and no fire is warm enough, no blaze is strong enough to keep away the wind, the chill. The armies are ready, standing at attention for so long, no objective in sight, the ranks grow restless, civil war is too close for comfort, mutiny kept at bay by reminders of the strength of unity, the consequences of breaking apart. Drawing on the inner reserves, outside lines have been disconnected. Taking in little bits of love like a mouse scampering for crumbs, hunger is a pain looking for some comfort, the cabinets are empty, the fruits are rotten. Every word could be poison, best judgment is my muzzle, I'd rather be silent than misunderstood and taken for a fool, I'd rather be invisible than distorted under the wrong light, hideous and malformed, you wouldn't see what's really there anyway. Sleep does little to slake the thirst of my fatigue, normal doses of kindness fall short of filling an empty reservoir, love drought. Can't have your arms without your fists, can't have your heat without getting burned. Still amazing how far you can go on an empty tank, still surprising to see how long you can function without what you need.