I’m the extremist when I want to be the moderate, before I fall for the benign.
I’m the speed of a jet fighter before the sports car, slowed down till I’m cycling on the line.
I am the dead shot in the heart, before the miss of the shoulder, till I fail to load my quiver.
I’m the raging alcoholic where 100 is never enough, 1s to many and none donates a healthy liver.
I’m the trip head lost in a psychedelic dream, the one who will never try that again, before I fall for reality.
I’m the hesitation marks on my arm, before the thought that pain would numb it all, till I fall to the crying in the corner with dark voices in my head who threatened such fatality.
I ride up, I ride down, I’m the moderate that rides around.
D December 2018