The moon carries a hazy appearance tonight, serving as a backdrop for my twisted delight. A couple vicodin might get me high, a useless plight, my life flickering like a wax candle dripping in the wind. I'm mere inches from venturing over the edge, even though something's been telling me "it's an inevitable end." There's no room for rational thought when it comes to emotional matters deeply inhabited, they tend not to make any sense. I write rhymes with no reason and my secrets are written in between the lines if you can read them. So this is a eulogy, proof of a new chapter exclusive to me and my ill habits. This time I avoid catastrophic disaster, dreams combined like galaxies colliding, a poetic merging of star dusted souls. No one knows, not even me.