Ouroboros. The cyclical serpent. True to the ideal, the notions and emotions have come full circle.
He stares at himself on the sleepwalk home, unblinking.
Despair gives way to hopelessness, and hopelessness begets rage.
The taste of the alcohol barely registers as it courses over his tongue and down his throat.
The fervour of his dalliance with bloodlust washes away with the water coursing down his swollen cranium.
He thinks of onanism but fears he'd tear his sex off before he reached ejaculation.
A calm nothingness washes over him and he's back where he started.
