Some nights are easy!
You just pour one out,
Sip it slow and drown
Into the darkness.
A darkness—
That glows from within.
As if it laid in wait,
Waiting to caress you,
In its cozy embrace.

Some nights—
Well, they’re a bitch!
You could sit under
A thousand moons.
And it would feel as if
You were sliding down.
Down and down—
The throat of a black hole.

And then,
There are nights like this,
Where prisoners of past
Are let loose.
Ravens of doubt fly high,
Swallow the stars whole.
And the heart burns,
Smothering the lungs.

Yet, you love these the most,
The whispering “what if?”s.
These razor-like feathers,
And the glass-like ashes.

Why!?
Well, it’s elementary, Watson,
When everything else is said
Proven wrong,
Whatever remains,
However improbable,
Must be the truth!

And the truth is this—
Death may have seemed better,
But life, the devil, with its dirty smile,
Is still a love you’d live for.
And pay everything,
To quench its thirst for blood…

Another gash,
From another bite,
Another wound,
And another sip of elixir.