It's odd. You'd think I'd get worse. Yet after her loss I've cut back on my drinking somewhat, knowing it was one of the reasons I didn't react soon enough. Her final day helped me weaken Adeline, dread lioness, cat of the Smirnoff fifth and the 40s of bud light that I raised from the buzz of a cute kit into a killer monster that consumed my whole life.
Looking back on the storm of broken poems I see two sides, the vestige of what I could have been with more mental acuity and the sad, sullen fires left behind the lightning.
I'm not in free fall grief anymore, and though I'll never forgive myself I've learned the hard way that even though I haven't quit I should think before I act. For now...if something I can't hold back comes to mind in regards to the way of the word I'll post it, yet things aren't the same now.
Hence the forty eight or so of silence.
For the few who have shown me kindness, tried to offer advice and friendship, walked this strange road with me whether openly or in shadow, I feel the need to let you know I'm not dead...just trying to find out who I am as I shelter in a dark place from the rain.
Well...this is probably the most sober thing I've written in a while. Guess that's it.
In the event I don't make it back, thank you again and best of luck.