tidal

yes, it sincerely does
ebb and flow back into me
the creative spark that ignites that burning
the sensation is riveting
splicing the atoms of happiness and joy into three
and I revel in that mist of content
that smoothly glides over me, moistening me with satisfaction

and then the tide turns
and contempt pulls me out to sea
to see where I went wrong, who did what
to force mutiny into my morning brew
glory of whimpering defeat, that’s all there is to celebrate
and insomnia and insatisfaction and incomplete irony
so be the drift towards realizing what’s hurt.