9.25.04 The Line of Sight

Twenty minutes...
she sighs the sigh of the weak and
weary from the many pills,
too much smoke and
general debauchery from the
late night bars (but then, they're
all late night...aren't they?)

A manicured hand grabs a glass of
chardonnay lik the grip of lover's lost
and reunited.
And stares across the empty divide between
her and her dread.

She would deny it--but the glassiness over
her eyes was not the sign of burnout
but fear.
A fear so deep it overtakes the
alcohol pusling through her
and challenges it (with a growl):

"DAMN YOU FOR TRYING TO NUMB THIS PAIN. FOR EVERYDAY YOU DESERVE IT."

A grip of the glass
and a glance to the left
reveals a lamp of yellow glow...

"uzumaki" she hears in her head
and she smiles to herself at a memory past.

For a second the hear loosens it
noose and allows a fresh breath of air.

The wise men say that sometimes,
even the most confident man will wake up and say,
"I wish I was dead."

She downed the last of her wine in one quick start
and whispered to herself,
"I wish I was alive."

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