They don’t talk about it often,
These long dwindling silences,
Where the only interruptions are the hiss of bottles,
Disrupting my thoughts,
Thoughts as deep as necessary,
Like a well that replenishes my core,
I thrive in the dread quiet of this void,
My mind as shapeless as the time in front,
Or the agony behind,
I’m simply there,
Floating in the waters,
Unable to drown,
Unable to move on,
Surrounded by it all,
Utterly at home.