There's something inside my chest, tingling, burning, dying to get out. If I continue to drink, it soothes it sometimes, puts it to sleep, but it never really goes away. It's always there, waiting. I can imagine it there tapping its foot, drumming it's fingers, waiting patiently.
There was a time, as a boy, when I saw everything clearly, a brilliant sapphire blue clarity that pierced the veil of lies and laid forth a wonderful imagination that only children can have. I was invincible, could do anything.