Nightfall is our Downfall

We maintain the semblance of some kind of functional joy. Real joy sometimes even, as long as the daylight hours suspend us. Nightfall's embrace is less forgiving. With it comes wine, come dark liquors that are meant to quell our spirits but just boil our blood. And everything that we ignore daylight in and daylight out, comes in bursts and painful words and violence. We are both exposed, laid bare. Often I lay myself bare, and am trampled on. Or so it feels. We are different people. Think differently, live differently, choose differently. And the night brings out everything we have been holding back. The beautiful, horrific beasts of our true selves - the other half, without which we would not be who we are - are let loose and reap their revenge in the hazy dark when our toxin-pumped blood would smother the memories of what takes place into a blur. And we lose all reference points, all specific the moments, words, instances to later bring up clearly, "I'm reacting to what you said on x date, at y time, during z conversation, because it made me feel like w." Instead what we have is a buildup of rough emotional references. The emotions aren't rough (in the sense of approximate) they are quite precise, sharp to cut like a violent blade because of their unfocused weight and inertia. We swing them like battle axes, without precision, without much thought to the repercussions they will and do create. And we do this, night, after night, after night, after night, after night, after night, after night, after night, after night

Nightfall is our downfall. And unless we collect our thoughts into clarity, we will will continue to swing battle axes, and open gaping wounds deeper than intended, and in places more fatal than intended. And one of those days, one of us will bleed out.