(those naked hallelujahs)

My brain is a flare across the tundra crashing through the last throes of this next dying night. a swift symbol of the good fight. the hours spent in friendships. awkward contemplation. vodka. wine. and cigarettes that beat the band back to the garage days they never should have stepped outside in the first place.

And i just want to sleep it off.

No more thinking. no more wishing. no more pining for what i just need to wait on a few more days. half-sober hours in a half-drunk life doomed as any young enough to believe there's something beautiful in store still when all the world's a hot shot screaming towards that certain end our parents fought in principle if not in bare-knuckled, slackjawed practice.

Not because i've given up. hell, there's nothing if not hoping...

I'm just tired. happy at home and ready not to oblige another living human being if this scrappy hands can help it.

Though they've never been much of a guarantee.