Wednesday, 14 January 2009
When the lines are blurred,
These moments are the hardest to survive;
I've got no shoulder to lean upon,
No sympathetic ear to listen to;
So I debate between habit and my age-old crutch-
Which shall reign victorious this time?
Which old friend do I turn to when this infection's grown sore?
To the drink that numbs my heart and mind,
Or the written words that soothe the restless animal inside?. . .