I 

write to fight these words that come into my head; I fight 

to write these words that 

might just be the end of me

but I 

write to fight the approach of nothing and I take 

flight from all my worries

and problems 

when I write to slight

my inner monologue

and fight to bite

whats chewing on me

because writing is fighting and fighting is 

lighting a glimpse

into my head. 

an ominous haze

muted music, the thumping of the beat

in rhythm with my

racing heart

and ribbons of red and black dresses swim

in my vision

but somehow through the fog of alcoholic mistakes,

She stands out.

a fire of confidence and beauty, I stumble over

and touch without thinking

and to my surprise

a gentle hand grasps mine

pulls me further away

but I know I am somehow getting closer to-

to what? I don't know, can't tell, my head-

I decide to stop thinking.

and her hand is still with mine

and I can barely tell that that hand is my own.

but She is all that I want, all that I need, so I

proceed.

to take off my clothes, to take off my mask

to give away what I've already lost

and I'm lost

in her eyes

in her thighs

in her

sweet smell of beauty and passion and

it's the morning

and

I'm alone.