Grasping greedy claws for brilliance
nicotine, alcohol, smoke
trying to choke out brilliance
through these substances
variegated like a jangling ring of keys
to an enlightened door.
But the more I try to **** down
each little chemical, I feel
emptier, drained
and my strained imagination
leans on reality for support.

And I tell  myself that there is always time,
another tomorrow like a promise
or an I.O.U.
and that shining tomorrow will be
so effortlessly new
drenched in drugs
and sweat
and nostalgia
and I'll be present
and there
and full,
pulling on the sleeve of the almost known,
the call that could reach my phone.

And tomorrow I'll be thin
and weight as much as
smoke.
Tomorrow all those lies I spoke
will be true, and my selfish wants
will no longer be daunted by
my crippling doubt.
Tomorrow will be without error or pain
or disappointment, or that same monotony.
Tomorrow, that cool spring morning, will renew
Trust me, and forget the truth.