#164

To dull the senses,
what else is there to it!?

I've had its taste.
The coldness suffocates me
every time,
and yet, the numbness that follows—

that is what keeps me going.

No!

It isn't supposed to inspire.
It never should.

But to me,
and I dare say,
to everyone else who does so,

we do it
to be free,
to feel more alive,

to forget, at least until
the dizziness wears off,
that we are only human.

It brings us closer to those
who dwell on Olympus.
Those who always mock us—

we, the trivial;
we, the slaves to dreams;
all of us who are simply living.

What are dreams, anyway?

I've long ago dug their graves,
and maybe in a few days, or less,
I'll come to visit.

I've outgrown my once-held dreams.
I am no longer in love.
It's hard to say I ever could be again,
but I do know that everything
after the first heartbreak
is simply superficial—

a direct mockery of the truth!

Oh! What am I saying?
I guess the booze is kicking in.
The spirits are making me high,
and my thoughts are growing unfiltered.

I wish to live once more.
Really.
Truly.

Not just wake up
and live through another day.

Oh!
Not like that!
Not just that!

I want to feel alive!

But—
those are just mere pipe dreams,
the most impossible
of all impossible things.

I wish to go back.

Unfortunately.

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