At Dawn

i can see the places in my life where i've given up too much of myself. one side of the sky shines bright - the other waits in darkness for the sun. the glory of an artificial night? there's no metaphor waiting in a blackness you make yourself. 

lately the drink has become an annoyance in the night, and eating causes nothing more than sufficient pain on more than one playing field. even simple pleasures have become an excuse to complain. one pleasure it would be murderous to go without? the compassion and understanding that always comes from familiar faces at just the right moments. 13th birthday - on.