Morning After

Just woke from a four hour sleep, I felt that I've been haunted all night long. I was haunted down to every inch of myself by my words, sounds and incomplete sentences. It feels pukish and empty. All the liquid in my body is gone. I was in a horrifying poem. Sun shone, and all that had been, vaporized into air. Clutter fills my mind or from wherever I choose words. Nothing is fixed, all can be zero and infinite at close quarters. What is there to hang onto? What is there to remember in the morning after? 

So it goes like this...

Sadness always pushes me to write, and that's how I move, with a step ahead and a step back. Alright.
No thoughts yet longing for silence. Longing.
Quiet!