Demolition

The quaint combination of beer and cold medicine fluxes the electrodes in my brain again. For the first time in so long I'm not myself. Not my mentor nor my protege. Watching her from behind the cloak of this vaseline lens she's soft and frail. All those hard corners rounded over. All those sharp angles curve instead.

Maybe this is who I want to be. External. Existential. Effortless observer to all I could've lived.

Saturday went too quick. Self-imposed drudgery. Seeking success in careless favors. Poking at happiness's embryo. Another accidental abortion.

everything that leads me back to where it all began.

Nowhere.

Or someplace that looks the same. No smell. No sensory cues. The sound of turning pages all there is to dance to. The wail of binders clenching closed as I look for a cornerstone in those aged arches.

To draw it out. To know.

Collapse. Ruin.

There is no other way to rebuild.