Do you see this community of souls
Clad in tattered rags of light?

This is my family.
Some of us are broken.
Some of us are healing.
We are all damaged.
But unlike those in the outside world
Who judge us,
Even spouses and siblings,
Teachers and preachers,
Each with a tongue
Like a judge’s gavel,
We never judge one another.
We each give kindness.
We each give compassion.
We hold out a hand.
We love.
We laugh.

Do you see this community of souls?
This is my family.

Who knew
The seventh floor of hell
Holds a view
Of red roofs,
A curl of saltwater,
A distant tower crane,
Baker over all.

Molecules of
Oxy and ethanol
Fall from receptors.
Blood levels plummet.
Straight down to ground
I gaze,
Contemplate
A fall to end it all,
A plummet into grace?
An end to suffering
Forever.

Through seven gates
Flows
Our self of such illusion.
Best not to close those gates
Oneself.
The finger of time
After all
In but a blink
Will flick them closed.
Blessed then comes
Reawakening of True Self,
Remembrance of true birth,
In the Timeless Realm
Of a million gates,
And no gates at all.

And in seven days
I learn to cut meat
With a plastic fork
And a plastic spoon.

My alter ego,
Thomas, seems to have the same problem I do.
He's in the hospital withdrawing from alcohol, and also has politicians
taking refuge under his bed.
The lice in Donald's Trump's hair
have demanded rice for breakfast
and it's 4:00 in the afternoon.
Bernie Sanders is under their clamoring free medical care for everybody, but every time I put the nurses light on and tell them what's going on they say no one's under the bed. I think they're in on it.  If this doesn't stop the doctors will think I'm crazy, but we know who the crazy ones are. Right?

If you're wondering why there's so many typos? I'm in the hospital,
Benzo'd out and on phenobarbital.
But I guess it's better than hammered drunk at home trying to give the cat a bath.
He doesn't like that band The Allman Brothers which I Blair at the side of the tub and he tends to scratch me
even with the Mr. bubble bath. Now I'll try to watch the Redskin buccaneer game, they'll always be the Redskins to me. But that could just be the benzos talking

Detox.
Everyone should detox.
Purge the comforts,
Out of your system.
The habits and routine,
Half minded ways,
Meaningless lies,
The vile biles.
**** it out now,
Don’t keep it in.
Detox.

This anxiety,
is making me anxious.
Feeding itself,
until it becomes dangerous.

It’s PTSD,
of some varying degree.
Each startup and failure,
taking its toll on me.

The inability to remember,
the pain and the fear.
Forgetting the scars,
that should be so clear.

The voice in your head,
reassuring you.
Saying this time will be different,
when you know it’s not true.

Louder and louder,
till it starts to scream.
Your anxiety grows,
and splits at the seam.

Then you give in,
letting go at last.
The voice takes control,
and repeats the past.

Another, another!!
It screams in a growl.
More, more!!
A predator on the prowl.

Then it is gone,
and you’re just floating there.
Trying to make sense of things,
trying to be aware.

Then it all crashes down,
and you’re drowning in hate.
You’re full of self loathing,
and memories that exacerbate.

Now the long road ahead,
seems to have no end.
Your chest hurts so bad,
and the tremors set in.

You can’t eat or sleep,
so you traumatize your brain.
You’re scared you might die,
but you’re more scared of the pain.

Four days and you’re better,
but the memories end.
Then that tiny voice,
starts to whisper again.

Over and over,
rinse and repeat.
Slowly killing yourself,
for a small fix of heat.