I’ve attempted to write down the things that matter most,
A message that’s meaningful, or words that will help me think,
But the light burned out, this pen ran dry of ink.
A cause, an effect, a practice makes perfect subject.
Tracing shaky steps as I fall to the floor,
A willingness to live, trapped right outside the door.

Pounding once, twice, three times on wood,
Clutch praying pearls, as a good faith measure should.
The answer comes, pouring like rain,
My issue is that I only hear them as they slip down the drain.
Punctured picture, removing my smile from old frames,
I’m in my own position, myself, my upbringing, my own thoughts to blame.

I reach for hope, not realizing that my sanity came unglued,
I settled on the incorrect decision that I’m “just fine,” and that I’ll “make do.”
Hate exists on the balance beam of what most consider love,
I consider the presence of darkness a calm, needed drug.
Dice clutched to my chest, afraid to tempt fate,
I let one stumble, and slip, to help my surrender placate.

Easy answers hidden behind the eyes of dead lies,
My decisions are mine, never cross the line, to my surprise.
Pills and promises fed to help make one believe,
Bills and an unhealthy conscious are all that my mind breeds.