Sometimes I feel like I’m swimming upstream through a muddy river of my own blood and guts fighting to keep from going over the falls which empty into some forever dark, misty abyss. Upstream my sanity hangs crucified from the side of a giant, rusted gate, the only opening in a miles long fence made from steam punk metal.
Carvings of all my failed dreams create a grid styled in paisley tattoo on the sweating fence panels. Inside dwells the remnants of a carnival struggling to hold onto the appearance of festive.
My heart cannot hide from the pain as I succumb to the darkness again.
Another low settles in.