I never knew a notion of notoriety could be absorbed from a surrounding, yet I sit with a sense of soothing stillness, relaxing with inactivity, not out of rebellion to work, rather finally unrestricted by mandatory, resented tasks.
Wallowing in a, what seemed would never come, paradise of escape, I still inflict injury like sitting in the sun too long,
wondering: will every checkpoint be so congratulatory?
Once too burdened by hassles, I have arrived to a sanctuary I'm not accustomed to.
I'm as free as I allow, reaching a delta of multiple destinations.
I may go my own way, but must always be weary of the current to come.
Can there ever be an extended celebration, or will gratifying reflection be cut short due to incoming obstacles,
constantly crashing down, piling up, flooding the way I came, forcing me to only look at my future; could I ever reach another beach if I crossed the ocean?
Why go on when an end is embraced before what's devotedly desired?
Would I ever be able to, again, amount to a certain state where I can then step forward and see a horizon of accomplishments?
Self loath blurred any personal astonishment, but wind wipes away wrath, rationing out the sound of doubt, while pushing me closer to the inanimately kinetic beauty of what I've come to take on.
I first came to detox in distance,
but as I approach the edge of a temporary limit,
I cannot help but be enticed by the moon's path set, shining on top of my new medium to dive through.
I will pause before passing into non transparency, for I must vividly gaze upon my starry situations that will brighten any transcendence, even when swimming straight into darkness.