Fury

...it hounds me. every step, all my moments of weakness, even wine pulls it on rather than dismissing it. Only now there is comfort in the fury.

I rest into it, or attempt to. No patience, a sense of loss. I have had this process, a series of peaks and valleys between grace without comfort and awkward stabs at ease that evoke furious self doubt and brash lunges into darkness. I express my fury alone, drunk and miserable. But at least fully expressed.