I've been up for too long,
now it's time to come down.
Maybe face that the ideas
weren't really that good and
wouldn't have made me rich!
(Grandeur!)
Return to my natural state of
ink and guitar strings and broken drumsticks,
and tears,
so many tears as tears on the
pages, and I am
still unable to cry.
Have no doubt though,
they are there.
I'm withdrawing, pushing friends and family
away, it has begun.
I'm agitated. Always.
I wake up ready to scream
because even when I'm asleep I can't
sleep and my dreams are
of guns and terror and fear.
I run, but my body is not trained
well enough to run fast and far
enough to pull this thing out of me.
I'm scared.
But I will make it through,
knowing the next high is just
one low away.