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Chemically induced paranoia.
Marooned by burning bridges,
I fear starvation.

Just surviving life right now
minutes or hours at a time.
It's not pretty.
Poems don't lie.

Perhaps that's why
I can only gush feelings
in some rhyme or pentameter

Not really pentameter,
to much work and time.
This **** has no flow other than
how I think I'd speak it in my mind.

Can't call it slam.
It's just word *****
so I can read it over
and over and over.

Send it to a friend.
Narcissistic desire.
All positive reviews,
so it doesn't matter.

It's easier to remember the feeling this way. (I guess)
Jaded poems of a jaded mind.
My issues are simple
relapse, replay, rewind.

Chain smoking simply for the high,
Et Cetera, et cetera, along those same lines.
Got all this to live for
yet that **** still remains?

Are you ******* serious?
I thought I served my time!
Regressed back to a default state of mind.

I thought I was better than this,
control seemingly was mine.
Normally I'd meditate;
not in that house of horrors

I barely eat,
Not drinking water.
Nothing but making it worse.

Escape: all available options.
I joke about it.
Reminiscent of Lennon:
Help