You gain a firm grasp on a cold, lonely reality. The quiet seeps in from all sides, as all the color sneaks out. Drunken promises, that joyous toxin happiness, fade away like blackout memories. Time stops, but life spins out around you. You fall out of orbit, stuck by the wayside. The everyday drags you in at first, but eventually you lose your thirst, your hunger, your desire. You scramble for control, for stability, in a painfully empty existence. People, you think, people. You want to be put back into the center of life; there aren't box seats on the fringes, after all. But the everyday holds on to its spot, because you are an exception, and the everyday hates a change in pace.