my whole life I've been awaiting one special moment to dramatically shift everything and anything to permanently good
I await for summer, hoping the glum months of December and January glide as fast as possible into the cheerful months of June and July
but as quick as the months stroll by, and the warm months finally arrive, nothing's changed and unfortunately I'm still as unhappy as before
I await for adulthood, thinking I must feel this way since teenage years were never really meant to be a great time in anyone's life
but adulthood will come and I'll be the same lost teenager except folded up inside some lost adult's scathed body
and I'm still waiting
because all I've ever been told is how it always gets better
and how the longer i wait, the closer i am to something i would've missed out on if i hadn't waited
but it's been so painfully long that I don't believe I'm missing out on much anymore
so please just tell me
I'm closer than I think

In the inner labyrinths
when I  walk alone
a gazing benevolent  eye, I see,
the helix nebula of my origin
watching me, intently
beloved star, once a dazzling sun,
you refuse to go quietly
in to the night's ferocity
mother dear, in your core
undying love still burns
singing my favorite old lullaby.

Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Myriad summer colours of an abstract view,
Curling up between and under the far away.

I’m lost in the mix, a melting *** full of play,
My own shade of Dark, a subtle blended hue,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Beautiful retro splendour, asking me to stay,
Flower in her hair, white petals, edged blue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

Smiling, she raises my soul from feet of clay,
Dark and Stormy cocktail easing me through,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Cuban rhythm dancers give a riotous display,
Bohemian sight and sound unleashed on cue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

We sample dreams from an enchanted tray,
Allowing hearts, minds, and spirits to renew,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Curling up between and under the far away.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

Yeah ,
you shiver in the dark
Your shadow hugs you tight
As in the meantime

You get a colored drink
In a crowded bar
Where you are nobody
Nobody is your name

The band is Dixie
line 'em up and down
Four time and rhyme
Loud !Loud ! Loud !

The pixies ply
you for their drinks
Sluring filthy things
You cain't help but crack a smile

There are
white breasted women
stepping up to the microphone
Sing ! Sing ! Sing !

The hour is getting late
Looking for a mate
So you slip off
a golden ring

Competition is ways and mean
Way down on southside
When they play under the lights
On Friday nights

Expecting a different outcome
                      *I try
            just one last time

"what is an addiction to you?" they asked, “well” you begin, “an addiction is having a cigarette, and just when you finish it, you feel like you need another one” but what you have yet to sink into are the depths of your imagination that you can’t care to to dwell on, because you’re too busy floating on the surface of your own soul.
You see,
An addiction is having your first taste of the igniting fumes as they dance on your tastebuds, manipulating the fact that no matter how good it may taste, that is what’s going to destroy you. its pushing the pessimism out of the inevitable because you’re fooled into being blind enough to think that this isn’t the thing thats going to **** you. It's the trick it plays when you think the smoke is beautiful as it caresses itself around your touch of naive passion, when the smoke is only the remains of the damage you’ve already faced.
It's a belonging you covetously latch onto in a desperate attempt to find any source of comfort, when you don’t even realise that it's only comforting because you’ve filled it up with everything you hate about yourself, every word you wish you never said, or thing you wish you never did. It's filled with every person you wish you never met and hurt you wish you never faced.
But maybe its the kind of addiction thats filled with everything you love about yourself, every word you wish you did say or thing you did do. Maybe its filled with every person you wish you spoke to, or hurt you wish you had to face. either way, you’ve locked that up so deep down inside of you that you’ve lost the possibility of an easy escape, you have to find something that destroys you to make it reappear, even if it's only a brief reminder. A delicate touch. A gentle wind of scent.  
You see, nothing is ever like your first addiction. You could be skimming pebbles before you realise to shoot stars, but no matter how much bigger or brighter that star may seem, it will never truly give you the same release that skimming that pebble did.
You let your addiction take over your senses because you believe thats the only thing that can give you a sense of comfort. You don't even begin to consider that this addiction is whats burning your withered soul into nothing but a pile of ashes, swept in the wind of humanity and reality. An addiction is living with the reality of rotting flesh and damaged bones; you can’t even stand alone because you’ve let your addiction glue itself with the fear of loneliness to your hand, so you think of nothing other than it being a part of you, an attachment, a parasite ******* the life out of you, whereas all you’ll ever believe is that its ******* the poison out of your pure blood.
An addiction is something you may not even realise you’re addicted to because you haven’t let yourself get hungry enough to lust for it. It's always there. It's destroying you. Even the smell of your addiction gives you a sense of relief that you’re not alone, when in fact the smell is there to remind you that you are trapped in a state of your own mind.
You have chosen to be oblivious to be the flaws it possesses, because at the time nothing can seem better than your first addiction, nothing in this world could beat the smell, the taste and the touch of your first addiction, and you have let that take over your senses to a stage where if that addiction was taken from you, it would hollow out your heart like a pin pricked egg.
No addiction is better for you than your first love.
Did you really think i was talking about the cigarette?