The moon is pulling at my brain, an invisible hand
Tearing the soft tissue through the sockets of my eyes.
There is no real pain, staring at the moon;
It calls to me as a cricket calls it's mate.
I'm sweating, a cold sweat, shivering.
My hands shake uncontrollably as I lift the glass of water.
I drink slowly, savouring the grey depression that enshrouds me.
I remember a time when the sun shone fleetingly
Through my heavy black clouds, a radiance burning it's
Imprint on my skin: branding my mind, forever remember that light.
Yes, memories: old sneakers left to rot in the rain.
Give me a thousand pills to kill the chills and enter the water.
The murky, warm, dark water. Alone under the water.
A return to the womb, slipping slowly back to birth.
A fetal position under miles of black water. Breathe in the dark
And cling hopelessly to the last light of the moon. The tide is out.
The moon still orbits the earth, even in death.
            

                                                                           ~ Gonzo (SMS)