A tepid Inferno of abstract thought to the point of disease, infinitely empty, but full of myself, a vacuum of unfiltered energy fighting a neverending anxiety attack with self medication, the first mosquito of spring, the embarrassed sadness of a fading then forgotten dream, the spiral of dependence only legitimizing the pleasure of the hunt, the thrill of the kill
the way your legs cross, perfectly hiding your fear
Dozens of thousands of beers