I find myself drifting off into the netherworld of introversion. I find my soul to be a dark, dreary place devoid of landscape, devoid of texture. The methodical gears grind like clockwork, working the great beast of cold, calculating logic that permeates my being to the core. I wander a desolate void of compassionless thought, full of the merciless truths about everything and everyone in my life. The flaws, the faults, and the advantages to each relationship, each bond. The rigors of maintaining an outwards appearance of humanity, of empathy, is taxing, some days more than others, but a constant nonetheless.

I come to with a jager bomb, then I savor the taste of my Camel Crush. I should apologize for misleading you with such negative adjectives in the previous paragraph, but I won't. I find my heartless logic, albeit a cold, abrasive companion, to be a stalwart accessory in my repertoire of tools and talents. The dark, desolate void I painted for you so vividly, the only home I have ever known. The safety of my mind, the sanctity of my soul...

'He who makes a beast out of himself, gets rid of the pains, of being a man' Dr. Samuel Johnson

I like to think the good doctor would agree those of us born beasts gain the same benefit.

Alcohol, solitude, and shadow make me rant like an ancient fool on his deathbed. I should pick a topic, but there are so many files carefully stored away in my mind, I don't even know where to begin. I could talk of my best friend, who might be dying. Or about the best friend before him, that almost died, then never forgave herself for living. Never forgave me, for helping her live.

Or I could talk about that pretty new thing I have found. She is exquisite, and quite dangerous. Woe is the lot of he who falls for such a creature, if my suspicions prove true. Woe is the lot of any who fall for her charm. I stand beyond the mortal threshold of love and lust... at least, certainly love. But control, control is a constant. I must maintain that discipline, must not falter. My glove fits well, and well it should, as long as it took to craft, as much time, dedication.

But enough, if I am tired of 'hearing' myself speak, I can only imagine how you feel. I am off to bed, to a world full of wolves that howl with me.