The fuse towards self destruction has finally been lit
it’s a slow burn to the moment to where i finally quit,
i’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted, yet not needed
I’ve sat listening to these demons whispering
as i pleaded for them to stop,
I’ve made a name for myself within this city
one that drips across my sanity and carves
paths for demons to tip toe to the back of my mind
and surface whenever i seem to find
a situation of serenity, or an instance robbing identity,
numbness has conquered inclination with help
from lacking reciprocation,
a scarred back easing into a bed
with dangling threads from a home knitted
form of stability, a bed that straps any form
of mobility, leaving a struggling being
beneath the shackles that confine
a mind that finds time to rewind to when
sleep was sheep counted and not a moment
where peace was surmounted by nihility,
where the only versatility comes within
which ways are easier to **** me.
each day awoken leaves the demons’
mutters unspoken
aesthetics show nothing but a painted
demeanour that dredges only when
the edges of the bed tremor as the
pillows inhale every scream and plea,

mornings are mournings for
how much I died the day before
and how each night brings
awakening as nothing to ever adore,
paralyzed limbs, everyday, find way
to slide off the mattress,
stand up feeling backless,
stare to my hands and see
shakes as the burden of
consciousness snakes its
way through aspirations
like rolling fog that weakens
foundations for social relations,

step out the door to broken
pavement, and whistling trees
that shower leaves to the dampened
green, bringing the melody of
tires to wet gravel
crushing the goal to unravel
this falsified disposition
writing todays edition of
“why the **** didn’t I stay in bed”

the sun goes down with the *****
so smooth to my throat keeping this body
staying afloat for one more night,
bottle after bottle, drink again and
feel this swaying ocean of liquor
rip an anesthetic of amnesia
knowing i can never please her,

the time has finally come where
i dip my hands into the keyboard
and plea for a release as my
eyes hide under a blanket
of stained glass masking
a pained past;
toxins flow slowly to my brain
through the uneasy flow of
each vain, poising every figment
of liver, as I ***** up every promise
I failed to deliver

It seems like just yesterday we
were twisting our bodies beneath
the symphony of the moonlight,
singing songs of everlasting
love with no sight of ending.
From the beginning I knew
there would be some halt
of companionship as a result
of a stagnant feeling that I was enough
for how perfect you are.
Theres nothing left of my pride
only the need to subside
from every burden i cause.
Every day I woke up and
rolled over to you
laying there with serenity  
thoughts collapses to emotion
knowing you thought you
were losing me, when
the state of my health
screamed out to me
assuring me I was losing myself.
So an awaited day finally came
where I let you go only to know
that you couldn’t live without me.
Seeing your distress left me
more of a mess than what I was before,
the only hope left within was the feeling
that you’d finally cope with me leaving
and find another soul that wouldn’t
constantly leave a hole
in your heart every time my insecurities
would start.
Mistake after mistake fuelled by
instances I knew i couldn’t take.
As you left after I did,
I knew I couldn’t rid
myself from the way I felt
but the reassurance that
you’d be looked at one day
by eyes that held no despise for
their self.
I now bask in the toxins
in order to mediate my conscience
to be sane,
accompanied by pills the rip the morals
from my brain.
Cigarette's packs are emptying faster than
the bottle, pills to make me happy I swallow
and pills that numb, pull me closer to the edge
as I use my thumb to pop the lid, to push my
consumption of poison to dredge every sense of life
from this already lifeless body.
Step out of your once loved mindset towards
my dredged excuse for a being
and open your expectations to those that
exceed what you once held for me,
there’s a room full of people right for you;
quit pounding on the door,
I’m not on the other side.

It’s a race to the bottom of the bottle
between sanity and sober realization
to every impaired negation and how to
alleviate and mediate the dependancy I
place on finding new routes to the
end of the flask. —
The hands of the bottle hold
dreaded burdens above my head,
bringing life to each morrowed breath,
and write hyms towards yearning
a long awaited wish for death,
sobriety weaves this addiction
of solitude through each thought of
halted life, and pushes it’s back
as it’s heels leave crevices to follow,
a view of darkness to come,
with turning back placing another knot
down a throat with attempt to swallow.
as each run of whiskey drips down the
walls of my throat the sinking ship within
my veins finds strength to stay afloat.
a Wiser whisper tickles at the anticipations
towards taking another sip,
the Hennessy tendencies stutter
a ****** equilibrium captivating
and inching my sanity towards
a shot of sequel librium. —
As ***** spews and consumes
the inhabited ground, a paroxysm
of unconsciousness feels
mentally sound,
blacked out with the following
morning full of acts to repent,
the monetary blackness
proves to be nothing but content,
recollection of priors
seem to fade with the desire of
sobriety and eliminating any hope
towards thoughtless propriety. —
Momentary happiness through
intoxication provides no mediation
between a sober fight for death
and a drunken one, the wish for
lifelessness is just subdued by
stumbling to bed and the inability
to steadily hold a gun to my head.

an intrepid image of consistency to living painlessly
floats aimlessly through an adjacent sea of complacency
that finds way to drift further from shore.
worries of capsizing and baptizing
in this ocean of social chastising
leaves me coming back for more.

descending the sail paints
images of pale
skys clouding progression,
shadowing the sun’s oppression
to shining through the cracks,
dreams reflect the water
of sailing to shore and
never coming back,
the table in cabin
covered with cigarettes butts
and empty bottles,
leaving stains of black
on the whispering floorboards
that sways with the current
that restores more
contentedness to being
lost at sea.

but, I wake up to reality
sea sick            
                                                MJB