I need to experience the universe again.

I’m not sure if I feel anything.

I panic at the point of it all.

The certainty of death.

I ponder the meaning and meaninglessness of each day. 

My head is filled with black coffee.

I want to add that splash of cream.

A moment of richness.

I can see it.

Ribbons of white, rolling satin which appear to move in slow motion through the darkness.

I little thing that cannot be undone.

A drug experience.

A horror.

I want to be left feeling different.   

Looking different.

Being different.

too

Anything becomes painful if you have too little or too much.

Fasting and hunger, desire and destruction.

A scratch.

A loving emotion.

Any drug or intoxicant, tonic or medicine.

Too little eye contact.

Too much rain.

Comfort is the feeling of control.

We place ourselves in positions we feel to be just the right measure.

Then.

We get bored.

And tell ourselves it’s sadness.

Woefully we cut ourselves up inside.

Because life with too much comfort and not enough pain is painful too.

Sometimes you just know things.