Its withered, folded pages
tell the story of a story
that's been told a thousand times.
Yet each time,
with every new detail discovered,
every character nuance now understood,
the story is reborn
and the old pages, once faded and worn,
come alive, anew,
to tell their story once more
as if never before.

Exceeding capacity, ready to break.
Exaggerated desire my only mistake.
Overwhelmed by sensation, my self-control lost.
Overzealous consumption; now counting the cost.
In time this discomfort will all fade away,
instigating another ravenous display.
Until then I'll ponder this wanton concern.
Unfortunately, I'll probably still never learn.

Just a few simple words
carefully arranged.
Set in stone for now,
but inevitably changed.
A pointless explanation
of personal insight,
a vain attempt to justify
what I already know is right.
Embellishing the commonplace
until it seems sublime,
or could it be nothing more
than just a dreadful waste of time.

It isn't quite ideal,
this living in reverse.
In fact it's quite surreal
and just a bit perverse.
Rotating counter-clockwise,
never quite catching the sun.
By the time the day is over,
it's only just begun.

Caffeinated conversation,
hyperbolic tales of woe.
With plaintive resignation:
"there's just nowhere else to go".
Dollar after hour spent
on grease and grand designs,
wondering where the time went
and reading too much between the lines.

Little by little,
a piece at a time.
Chipping away at what used to be mine.
Insidious impulse
masquerading as need.
Lie, cheat, and steal its only purpose, to feed.
Laying waste to my health,
and twisting my mind.
While, all the while, it renders me blind.
Calming my demons,
or so it makes me believe.
Yet giving me all the more reason to grieve.

Stumbling against the will of probability
in the infinite, indefinite, unyielding wait and see.
Wagering the future on a lapse of sanity.
Despite advice, still thinking twice, I brace for what will be.