my lungs have grown stale
waiting for your breath of fresh air.

Memories. Phantom impressions mutating with every pass.

This was all only wishful thinking.
Looking back confirms the present.
Your memories are only scarred impressions of last year
regrown into the ugly manifestation of today.
right now, that is your anti-depressant.

Glimmers of hope: shots of bittersweet semantics.
the proof burns its way down.
I'm drunk on nostalgia.

Induce the Narrative: The Discourse with Death

Dancing along these thoughts. An hour passes by in the haze of a minute.
Sever these sober ties and drift into oblivion, navigating freely.
Exploring yesterday with ghostly impressions.
Throwing sail to the wind. Push through mundane cessations.
 Time holds no constraints here.
Cognition roams, lacking fear.
In throwing out the map, shedding expectation.
I become free; lucid and truly.
The night is yours.