Quiet Storm

The quiet time comes to me like a dream, there's motion stuck in modular consignments that evades cognition. The patterns eluding and disastrous to the unintelligent. I deemed my self worthy but got scorched, substance abuse had drained me of the insight I believed myself to have; what a pity!

I felt the grip from within, clutching at my right ankle begging to be reinstated. Whatever past glory existed will be brought up from the dirt eventually.
As my emotions coast, there's a calmness that comes from knowing that the only people who reach out to me are those who care and not them that pretend to; the ones who would accept this insensitive, bumbling piece of work, true friends indeed and despite my unintelligence, you tarry.