Slowly rising. Slowly standing up. Slowly ascending, descending the stairs.

Slowly and carefully. This is the way of the world for you now.

And still the head is light. The sparkles are spinning, flying free. Up above the fray. 

Leaning over, leaning down, forehead resting on your arms.

Blood flowing back into your head. Surging out of your heart. Through your wretched flesh.

A temporary trance, filling your mind with something you can ill express.

It's the little bliss.

It's above the pain, the wretched distress of the flesh.

Oh yes. Oh yes. It's the joy of that little bliss.