It's only in the hours when it where's off i realize it's leaving me.
I cling but the spark is gone.
Im inspired more by destrution than words.

Your reading the next.
And as you grasp what I say can you fathom what I dont?
Is it so hard to reconize a ending?

Are the bad jokes far from my real truths?
Have I found my edge  or just slipped over it?
Part of us has to understand it will fade sooner for some than others.

From thought to papper it's a dangerous road travelled .
and often there's no clear direction.
Ive burnt out my senses now im wasted in excess.

A victim of my own wreckless reason.
It's always there in the sense of a final chapters twisted close.
Im a empty lot in the winter.

A cliffnote to a once well read book.
Now just fodder for few still brave enough
to walk along the overgrown path.

Addiction is something  you can hide from few
let alone yourself.
I hope the mind can create a final chapter.
But my thoughts seem bent on a open ending.