Coming down

As the strangeness of before is leaving my mind, I realize what was truly there. What had actually been planted. As I come down from the high of the drug, feeling less visceral and less alive. Emotions level and plain, no excitement nor disappoint. My logic mind reigns supreme, showing me the error of my ways. Lighting up the path before me, the path I need to take. The metamorphosis that must occur before I can think of treading the other way.

Yet, I look down that path, careful to contain my light so as to prevent the blindness from returning, drawing me back, like a moth to flame. My heart yearning to return to that sweet intoxicating embrace. My soul addicted to it, to the intensity it brings. Even as my mind clears, and my body recovers, my deepest fear is to never return there. To never feel the softness of it. Never to hear its resounding notes of beautiful pleasure. Never to taste that eloquent poison.

I fear to never truly feel again without that which I am drawn to, as before the world grey like the hull of a battleship. Bland and dark, faking emotion to try to feel. Nay, I do not want this, I cannot accept this. But before I can partake in the intensity of that state, of that grandeur, I must first learn to balance, to remain fair to the reality and fantasy of it.

I must, for a time, let go of that which I hold so dear. Verily, though, I will never be free from the addiction I so easily found. I will it and watch from a place, flirting with the feelings, being tempted by them, letting them tease an amount of me to feel. A contact high to keep from coming down completely, necessary to wean myself from complete addiction to controlled pleasure. The only way to survive playing with the fire, to keep from burning your wings, it to train yourself of its danger, and teach yourself the signs of wild careless abandon, and learning to return from the brink.

Returning back to that point,where you can see into the void, but far enough from the edge to keep from falling.

Words, words, words. They are becoming a thing of passion. Words, easier to see and harness, less difficult to understand. Their meanings less trivial. Words, their weight discovered more clearly, a string of small words put to one another carefully meaning more than before. Larger words, conflagrating amongst each other profoundly reverberating. Together, large and small meaning evermore.

Wild and untamed they were before, less cloudy, more clear they became.

Finding balance is the key, learning how to explain.

Nevermind sad little thoughts of old.

Be aware of positive things, they are greater to behold.

Give your all to passion, burn up from within

Push the passion away, grow cold unable to return the light that once burned bright and never feel again

It is the middle you must find of secure and extreme

for too much of one or another will always leave you silent, hurt and wishing for your dreams

you must have both, for this you cannot lie

for with none but one, your soul will surly die

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