I’ve become triple distilled.A bottle of hard liquor sitting on a broken roof staring at what was once the ground. No stars, no moon, no romance.Just a bottle of 80 proof moonshine. I can’t tell if I’m half empty or half full. I don’t even know what would be better. I still dream from time to time, and there are moments where I withdraw my staring eyes, from the void beneath my feet and stretch up towards the sky. But as I watch the night, I still can’t tell if darkness is evening or morning, or if the night is coming or going. I don’t even know what would be better. There was a point where I felt like I was growing but I can’t tell anymore. Sometime now it all feels so fucked up which is where I begin to tip the bottle, and say a prayer written on the side of a shot glass. There is always a brief moment before I begin to distill, where the liquor kisses my lips and I wonder, am I OK? Am I living or am I dying? And it’s so goddamn hard to tell the difference anymore. I don’t even know what would be better. So I tip the glass and smile and let my drink caress my mouth, throat, and soul, into the best or worse sense of beauty ever imagined. A point in time where the void hardens, ground returns with clovers and daisies, and the sky shines with starlight and comets, and I know that the glass is half full, and the night is young, and I am in fact OK.