you can never have too much of a good thing,
so you sabotage yourself.
grade A average, brand new relationship,
two years sober. you start using again.
new small business, good money;
better hours, you're your own boss.
you spend every day doing the things
you love. you stop eating almost completely.
back on your feet, you've got a routine,
a 12 step programme. surrounded by
friends, adored by your family.
you're one good thing away from a big mistake.
the type you can't correct.
woke up stoned and
sore, rolled off the couch
and seeped into the floor.
this is not what consent feels like.
i wish i'd dropped ecstasy and lsd.
understood electricity, given my eyes
lights that bend and expand as a function of time.
this morning begs to experience real ego suicide.
or licked the snow straight from
the stained toilet bowl with that girl
so i could feel real disgust and run, forever
through steaming puddles of stomach acid and semen.
because it was my decision.
and i could decide to best the lethargy
that's settled in my bones and lymph nodes
drink the fog streaming from the
street lights and clean myself.
sparkle like i used to.
how by chewing wildflowers
til your tongue turns numb because
you're enamoured by the way it sounds
when you slur your words.
your teeth turn black and
when you smile all i see is
pips and petals stuck between your teeth.
oh you're so pretty.
you're a real loose cannon, tendrils
tethered to every orifice and
every breath smells a little more
like the grim reaper is sleeping
in your mouth. i can see he's
making quick work of your gums.
but it works.
better that than he move into your chest
or burrow into pockets of fat
in your head.
I’m old enough to buy a semi automatic
but not old enough to buy a forty.
That’s okay, my dad drinks enough
that he doesn’t notice when a beer
or glass of wine is missing.
I drink to fall asleep, drink to wake up,
drink to write. They say alcohol doesn’t
make you any more creative, but I don’t
buy into that when I’m four beers in and am not
just another suicidal kid on the internet.
He doesn’t care that I hurt myself,
just that I cry around him. I’m not
allowed to be angry, but he sure as hell is.
He knocks over my mom’s organization
and yells at me as I tremble, scared as hell,
ready to bleed to be forgiven. My therapist
says he’s an alcoholic. She’s probably right,
but admitting that would be admitting
a predisposition that should keep
me away from bars and liquor cabinets.
To be sober is to be vulnerable
and I’m sick of being scared.
stone's throw and the water's current, clouds shifting in the valley of the sky above
screams could be heard near
it was more of a giddy falsetto, shouts that sounded too drunk,
it was an all too familiar sound for james an all too familiar person
"look at my wings! im a fairy! im coming home to the beloved land! wait for me fairy sisters!"
he went to the clear to see if he was hallucinating he wasn't
it really was her;
nine months since they broke up; that tearful separation
for a minute he just stood there at the far end of the river watching his ex girl friend spread her arms and glide near the banks in the bridge chanting and giggling
god, did he miss her voice and her laugh
she was just like how he remembered her, her timeless free spirited soul still intact as if she took her childhood with her as she grew up, clenched tightly in her fists
the moonlight kissed her milky pale skin, bathing it in a dusty sort of blue.
she was all by herself and he could tell that something was off;
like she was only half there, like her soul vacated her vessel and she was talking to someone not there
she seemed disoriented and james wondered if she was getting bad again,
the worry kicking in as soon as he thought about all those nights,
those times they got high and drank too much and drugged themselves, injecting poison they craved into their veins, letting cigarette ashes fall to their feet, tiptoeing about as if by a marionette's force trailing along the synchronized beating of their hearts
his mind and being time travelling, to the motel room they stayed at that summer bursting with heated afternoons and passionate air, the sheets that smelled of their love making, the wooden floor they sat on as he strummed the strings of his beloved guitar, singing to his muse, the balcony where they laid in each other's arms, in awe of the world around, cicadas chirping
their adventures and misadventures where she pretended to be a superhero and had him as her sidekick the times they pretended to be spies on quest and missions-she introduced and dragged him into her colorful magical realm.
she had dog eared, coffee stained colored books piled in the trunk of her car with words and sentences blacked out, renewed into greater poetry. he could've put a bookmark between pages of one of those books, and they could've dived right into it, staying in a chasm of a sappy, lovesick, sensual poem. they could've gone on a quest of slaying monsters and stopping time for eternity. he couldve stopped them from drowning
they were looking for heaven not knowing that heaven is not a places on earth
all he did was pull down the anchor and let her sink as he kept afloat. sure their connection was real and pure. they comfortably had both of their minds and spirits bare around each other they were two kites flying in a parallel motion but the wind dragged them down hurling them recklessly
they were rarely under substances, almost never under the influence of vices. it filled them up like birthday balloons and their love was the needle that caused them to pop. it had reached the point where they were trapped in a psychedelic haze holding on to each other to stay lucid
the drugs took their toll on them resulting to violence, abusive fights
he loved her so much that he built her a house of bricks and cement to protect her from the big bad wolf not knowing that heroin and cocaine turned him into a wolf and he huffed and puffed til he blew her down blew her dead
he felt his heart hit the flat line as her heart stopped for seconds in the ambulance that night he felt everything warp into everything he's ever known everything he's ever had, ever los. he felt the drugs warp into her as if she was the side effect instead of the addiction. the drugs gave them the illusion of being alive while remaining two lifeless, misguided souls.
miraculously they were able to revive her back to life but comatosed with only monitors and tubes sustaining her "life".
that night he dreamt of being with her and holding her hand for the last time as they made a pact, the promise; that they would both get better, get help, get rehab, have blood in their bloodstreams again and have normal functioning lives. they parted with a promise and a someday; that someday they'd meet again when things were right and the stars have aligned maybe, maybe. they kissed and touched in one another's presence before they parted in different directions, for freedom for the better it was a dream within reality. he knew she dreamt it too, that they were stars weaved in the same dream.
he walked closer, to where she was, still seemingly trapped in a trance mindlessly but she alarmingly tethered too close to the water, flailing her arms inviting the wind to knock her down and be part of the river, be the tides the rocks skipped. he had to do something
" sophia!" he screamed, her name echoing past the trees and the trailer houses. it was enough or her to look at him with those eyes, the same eyes that said it all before. recognition fleeted for a second before it went blank but she stopped tethering and perched herself on the bridge
he gave her a lift and took her home to the dorm she was newly staying at for the semester (it was hard to get it out of her from her drunken slurs almost like he had to pull her back from space) and on his drive back with a cigarette perched on his lips he thought about the way he laid her down, passed out and how he stayed for a bit longer, letting his fingers linger across her hair spun from golden silk and the lopsided smile that hung in her face while she slept.
he wondered most of all if she really got better, if the dark was behind her and if she was truly beyond it. he really wanted to believe the pictures that lined the walls,pictures of her smiling, with her friends, her family months after the promise.
she did look better, her skin baring a hint of plumpness and had a healthy glow replacing the sagging hollow that lived in it all those months. after the episode he witnessed (she did reek of booze and had bloodshot eyes and was shaking not to mention the trance she was in), he didn't know if she was only good at keeping up the "better" facade. but he had his fingers crossed
he was about to let himself out, an ache growling in his stomach as they were to be separated again but he guessed it was the closest they would ever be.
"tell james i love him. always"
his head swiveled back to her and she was still tucked asleep. he could've sworn she said it, he couldn't be hearing things-after being eight months clean of substance usage.
he felt the familiar burn of the cigarette, and he threw it out of the window leaving the remnants of the nicotine inside him. he hated himself for lighting one up and keeping a half pack all this time. this was his first successful relapse and it was all because of her. like a ship tied down to an anchor;he was still tied to her, invisible ropes weighing him back to her ghost
she would always be his downfall
Some lack the intelligence to question.
Successfully saturated in meaningless pleasure.
Content with the everyday.
Is the answer found in ignorance?
No, it is only constant escape.
A blindfold of euphoria.
The alpha enjoys life but never feels the need to understand fully.
In this new age there are those.
Those who bestow false titles on themselves.
Titles to distract for what they deem is personal happiness.
Happiness is a chemical distraction.
The avoidance of happiness lays bare the foundations of life.
Depression broadens the mind but overwhelms the individual.
Substance expands the mind.
New thoughts, new processes.
The key is not found in fungi.
Through it, the introduction to the question is bestowed.
A - the atrocity that my life has become
D - the damage, and still, im not done
D - the denial, the doom in the vile, dangerous, daunting; forever defile
I - the image I fake of myself, I- my constant &chronic; bad health.
C- the cost of a chemical wealth.
T for the tension, paranoia and fear. Yet it’s the letter that symbols it’s here.
I - irrational, insensible, intense. I - irresistible iridescence .
O- for the option that I didn’t take, O for the others that still I forsake.
And N for nervous. Nauseous. Night. N, the neophyte, turned narcissist knight.
Transparent to everyone, how its hold is too true
So clear its invisible, Addiction did coo:
“when you wake and feel my crave,
and all my charms different behave;
resistance, strength, pain & choice,
may mute my spell, quiet my voice.”
“embrace what little light is shed” suggested addiction, faintly he said:
“For I can kill the best man dead,
though im just shadows in their head.”