sicpowered

i've been up all night, reading. story of murder and brimstone. insanity and vengeance and the lust to own perfection. redemption falls short for the wicked. heros are lost.

the sun is creeping up, i imagine a healthy cloud cover, beautiful roiling clouds locked in repose. i can't really see much out my windows, trapped underground as i am. not cold, but chilled, the belief that i should sleep against the lack of need. perhaps i'll go all day without. i know i'm hungry for so much, but only food waits in the immediate. and i've no desire to chew or sip. the bits and pieces of a habit of broken lives lay all about. sometimes my choices bother me so much i can no longer feel any of it. somewhere far off are warm arms, gentle crushing kisses, and an age of lust compacted into precious few hours.

i'll hazard a trip to bed, let my own imagination envelop and consume me for awhile. somehow i hear a distant sound of a train leaving station.