@[Confutatis]

I feel melancholy.

It is something that stirs in my chest where normally bliss sits, so secure and utterly untouched by everything else. In most of my life, despite whatever feelings I have had, happiness has always been beside them.
Today, and yesterday, and probably tomorrow too, I have felt unhappy.

It's uncertain what the exact cause was that usurped the joy from my being, but I can feel the leader of the coup in that I sense the absence of my bliss. There is an emptiness drifting in my mind, as lost and forsaken as an adrift skiff in swollen seas of waves, wind and Krakens.
The wind presses a cold, stark kiss on my neck just then, as though a reminder of the very plight stirring in my conscious. I pause in my travel, orange eyes glancing warily around me. I seek those windy lips, but she is as evasive as always.
Bitch.

I shake the feeling from my mane and her touch falls in dried, frozen residue - dandruff.
I continue my march forward. The trees draw me in like an old friend.
Trees are shitty friends.

I can't say I really know much about friendship. I've had a lasting relationship with my shadow, but that seems more of a forced issue than any metered alliance. Shadows are shitty friends too.

Like anyone who's lonely and afraid of the world without any friends at all, quality aside, I greet them with smiles and laughs and pretend that I enjoy them.
I am afraid.

I sigh at all this complicated mess. The breath of frustration tumbling into the air as I weave through the bodies of my companions.
The sight of the woods crowding like teeth in a hungry mouth causes a flood of relief in the soreness of tired muscles and brings a shy heat to my genitals. My tail pricks in anticipation, but is sorely disappointed when I step forward. Its excitement causes a sashay to my hips that I notice always preludes an excess amount of urination.
What goes in goes out, although I can never remember drinking anything remotely gold.

The wind sneaks in another kiss. I turn hastily to catch her, but she is gone in a flash of whipping mane that scatters my vision like the clouds drifting over the moon. The silver light flickers and stars fall into black.

I stand in the night, wrapped into myself, and watch the sky have technical difficulties.
It reminds me of my emotional duress and I bemoan a call to the forest, sending my sorrow out like a bugle in the symphony of living.
The wind steals it away, along with all her kisses.

Worn out places, worn out faces
No expression, no expression
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
O C T O B E R :