A cup of chamomile tea to soothe the nerves, it does not soothe the nerves. Relief does not come in liquid form. At best, it floods over emotion temporarily. This calm is deceitful. I will not give into it, even if it is a warm distortion. Disaster follows closely behind tranquility. They are sisters, or worse yet, lovers.
Emotional Tornado, leave without uprooting my core. As if it cares to respect my wishes. As if it can be bargained with.
Here are images of car wrecks. Right here, in the center of my mind. Everything that could possibly extinguish my life plays over in my head, taunting and teasing me. Control can only be had in limited quantity, and even then, never over anything that matters. These things are decided on arbitrarily, by a God grown bored of Its creation long ago.
I cannot decide if things were better or worse, when I was more like my father. When I drank the pain away.