The brisk, crisp air agitates my scorched skin-down to the bone and all.
The cynical, cyclic nature of the failure of finding that escape only to lose it when sobriety shows it’s much needed face.
Shortcomings and relapses of every sort: never failing to leave me pissed off..”again?!”-Is ruminate until i’d hallucinate.
Winter is sobriety: not great but necessary... Autumn is only ominous