without a fix,
words flow on in a semblance of rationality,
as all balance is lost under a pretense of vigor.
under the influence,
the pulse of my diminishing mind paces slow,
falling rapidly toward the flats of impassivity.
shaking of withdraw,
skin crawls across bone, lacking chill or reason,
the absence of a stimulant barring practical function.
weary of insignificance,
my mind and soul are in dire need of being elsewhere,
alas, elsewhere never tends to be enough, in the end.