Tonight is a drinking night,
a need-to-not-think night,
because I need a break
from constant over contemplation.
Someone else take the wheel,
I'm going to take the bottle.
My brain is fried anyway,
perpetually assessing
every possible action
and the ensuing consequences.
**** it, I'm tired of this lie,
someone else drive for a while,
and let me sit to the side
while the road is chosen.
I'll be over there, drinking.

It's a bad habit I've picked up,
that when I start getting confused
about life I panic, want to run.
You see, it just seems infinitely
easier to leave it all behind,
let the chaos remain while I go
                                                              ­           somewhere
unknown and begin anew.
I've seen it time and again,
bore witness to the pattern
as my mom loaded us up and fled.
As a child I hated being forced
to pick up my entire life to go
                                                                ­            along
for a ride I never wanted.
As an adult though, I understand,
more completely than I would ever
have thought possible. And now
is one of those pivotal times
I'm stuck contemplating
                                                                ­           the way
out of the mess I've created.
I know the routine all too well:
sell all, keep only what fits
in the back of the car. All else
is extraneous, replaceable.
Drive without purpose until
                                                                ­           I've lost
all semblance of an endpoint.
Where I end up is where I go.
Some try to tell me that this
method of coping is unhealthy,
but how can I fight its allure?
When my mind becomes madness
and I can't figure my life out,
what's a better solution than
running, flight over fight,
no one to complicate things, only
                                                                ­            myself.

.                       Hello there old friend,
                        how I've missed you.
No, don't try to talk sense
into me at this moment.
I know your advice is sound,
and you have good intentions,
but right now I don't need
to know the moral path.
I'm in need of a little more
soul sacrificing pleasure.
                       Hello there old friend,
                       how I've missed you.
                       Welcome back, I'm sure
                       we'll get reacquainted quickly.

I'm unsure of how to persevere
in this role I'm supposed to
be pretending I was given.
And I fear that I'm continually
mistaken for my mask
when all that lies beneath
is treachery and deceit.
Yet you are fooled over and again
while I am left with the slimy remnants
after I've sent out the venom.
Tell me, is there truly such a thing
as a good-hearted executioner,
or am I only attempting
to fool myself as well?

The melody of your voice
no longer holds appeal,
bringing only disappointment
in the things left unsaid.
As for subjects mentioned,
your promises mean nothing
and the words you speak
are mere sounds that hold
no value to me anymore.
They are all too devoid
of the trust I was mistaken
in putting in you before.

I'm trying to navigate through life,
but the roads are iced over
and this vehicle wasn't built
for the treachery of snowy slopes.
My tires turn at odd angles,
oscillating wildly in their attempt
to catch some semblance of traction.
But the snow bank is getting closer
and no matter how I twist the wheel
I can't seem to steer away from
what seems to be impending impact.