Always searching for greener pastures, never really taking the time to find himself.
Relying on his self medicated fuel to press through another hour, another day, another year…
Not fully aware of what he has to lose. He sat there and spoon-fed his internal cannibals, the bones, the blood, the meat. Pained to discover that their imminent hunger remained unsatisfied…he tries to roam the room freely, pacing and wondering how he got here swallowed beneath his sadness, pinned down by nights before when he filled the emptiness to the brim, drink by drink never allowing a single drop to escape pursed lips. “Who am I without you?”, He’d mumble in a low whisper. Like an escaped convict he reconsiders capitulation. He yearns for that familiar energy to reemerge. He longs to feel anything but “numb”. The self portrait he draws says,” worthless, helpless, and lost.” But then she walks in and sees the darkness he’s under, she sees his storm cloud expanding and looming over him…and like an umbrella unfolds, she wraps him in her shelter and doesn’t let go. After all, that’s what good friends are for….