It masquerades as a peeled fruit rind made of malachite. A yawning, lazy corkscrew with snags and edges littered about. All the better to tear my patience and rip my self-worth.

It's the Addam's Family slide, without the campy playback, or estranged brothers laughing. A silent, insidious coil. Just replace the lights with rusted fishhooks, and the metal bars with razorwire.

It's a jet spiral of loss and failure. And it doesn't move upward. It only spins down, down, down. A single misstep puts me into a wraparound tailspin. Gathering velocity like felonies. The crushing weight of anger pressing harder on deeper on my chest with every twist-and-a-half. No amount of clawing, straining, forcing can pull me back up.

10:14 p.m. - 2014-11-06