All I could do was chase the imprints tattooed in my mind. Lines layer themselves in my head, they settle one by one but in a flash it’s utter chaos, they swirl around like autumn leaves beckoning death. Can you swirl me too, like a child on a carousel with no tomorrow to dread and no yesterday to mourn? When I’m six years old again and my eyes are a brighter hue, I’ll recall the time when sixty was just passing through. And when I’ve found what I wistfully longed for at the hands of the bartender, and the blunts have turned to ash, can you save me from my reflection at the bottom of a bottle?

All I could do was take a break from the chase.