There is a quite beauty to desperation. A crystalized clarity of vision in the throes of despair. Eerily there is a troubling calming sensation in impotence. Especially while even the remotest semblance of an inkling of salvation is absent. There is no respite, no sanguineness, nor restitution. Forget reparations when wallowing in the miasma that is the wrong side of midnight.
Sightlessly feeling around in the dark for a handhold to reality ,blindly reaching for some moral balance. Groping for a straw to clutch amidst the abyss,trudging mindlessly back to sanity. Trawling the dreary and treacherous seabed of drudgery ,scrambling for a nuance of normalcy ergo progressively instead lurching through into the locus of the wrong side of midnight.
With remorse and self loathing for company misery is deliriously in love..A cascade of debasement launches itself off its haunches from within. Manifest as a small still voice- drowning out the crescendoing cacophony of conscience seeking audience.The deafening silence of inept non response reverberates through it all. Soundlessly cutting through the contaminated ambience that constitutes and gives affirmation that this is indeed the wrong side of midnight.
Optimism fades fast. Loosing itself in the vortex of the mind’s infinite capacity to entangle itself unto itself.Disentanglement from this congruence of vile negativity is futile. The ineptitude conjures the stench of incapacitation, permeating pervasively the treacherous nexus of perfidy. Though joy cometh in the morning , there can be no hope for sunrise. Despondency reigns supreme whilst hurtling deeper; inextricably further into the void that is the wrong side of midnight.