A new year brings familiar complications. I have these dreams, never anything short of nebulous cryptographs. They are the thick, hostile, Black Forest. Though the rolling fog raises and carries me to such impressive heights, I cannot find the meaning. The silence pounds away at me, following me to the bottom of the lake, where I find the pressure pushing into my skull. I am oh-so-tired of impulsive acts, that bring about unnecessary strife. Rip out my claws, file down my fangs, break my legs in half. If all things must come to an end, then let the same be true of my aggression, my pain. Add my virtues, count every merciful act. I deserve this. Dear god, I have earned this. Hold me up by my red hair, and help me walk upright.
High waves seem out of my reach and beyond my control. He says, say a prayer for me. And I do. She says, says a prayer for me. And I do. Somehow I forget to recite one for myself. Blame a pride I am obsessed with. Blame a tongue that has a way of becoming heavy, when it matters that words be spoken. Blame a carnivorous wolf that gnaws away at a brain that once held pretty thoughts. I have made such a habit of being off the line.