RETURN OF THE G

The culmination of my insanity peaked when—while seated on the floor at the foot of my couch—I spilled a glass of wine on the stack of poems scattered at my feet.

Several original, hand-written pieces were destroyed beyond repair.

I passed out and dreamed of endless highways, desserts and bones—dying of thirst.

The past month, I don't know what happened.

I got lost in the emotional labyrinth of my mind and heart, shadow-cloaked perception, pitfalls, and yes: meat hooks.

I lost my mind.

I lost control.

Lost all kinds of things.

Became obsessed, anxious and paranoid. Depressed. Disillusioned. Defeated.

Well, I woke up.

I'm back.

What remains of those poems will be filed away. Too much emotion. Too much bleeding.

Was it worth it?

Art.

I'm back.