I want to do better,

                                But drugs want to do me.

Procrastination,
A lazy man's tool,
Cluttered bedrooms and takeaway food.
Every day tasks,
Now that's a situation
Sleeping in until your own damnation.

Waking and baking,
The day goes up in a blaze
Calling in sick to work,
But you are faking.
Trapped in a haze,
Stuck in my old ways,
A lonely stoner in the making.

Why do I find beauty in burning my bridges?
Immense heat, a false conclusion and less responsibility.
Damaged to the core
Broken promises, even though I swore.

Why do I find beauty in narcotics?
Escape this reality - caught within a warm grasp.
The reason why I am psychotic,
****, pills and antibiotics.

I am an open book,
but everyone keeps reading the same page.
There is more to existence than the bare extremities,
Bursts of happiness and then rage.

Greek stories - chill me to the bone,
Myths and legends, a castle and throne.
My favourite - King Midas and his golden touch.
I feel like I can relate, without having to try too much.
But, whatever he may touch will turn to gold.
I am different by a bit,
Whatever I touch turns to ****.

Some peoples flaws show up as red flags,
Mine, slightly differ -
My tendency to overshare,
Burns bright like a red flare,
After a joint or liquor,
My insecurities are exposed for what they truly are,
Nothing more than a party piece performed by a sad clown,
Empty words, but yet so deep -
You could drown.

O man on the moon,
I just don't understand.
In contrast to you I'm fed with a silver spoon.
The universe is so vast,
But you choose to live in the wastes.
Are you trying to escape from your past?
Or are you just a man with unusual tastes?

Regardless, you have seen it all.
From your safe haven you have watched empires rise and then fall.
The wars that have waged and the atrocities that follow.
A bitter pill for you to swallow.

I'm sure you live in hope, that humanity might learn.
However the future of my race is not your concern.
You have chosen isolation,
A cowards way out.
Your blessing and curse,
Unable to escape the earth's rotation.

It's feast or famine,
Or at least that's what I tell myself.
A coping mechanism for a fool-
only in place to ease the minds of the broken.
A meer fantasy as fragile as glass,
at most just idealism of the comfort zone - the domain in which I rule.

It's sink or swim, in this shallow pool.
Remaining afloat, has become taxing.
Tethered, my anchor holds me in place.
Granting me the bare necessities in breathing space.
I struggle in silence, most of us do.
Open discussion, has become a taboo.

The hot water hits my head, and flows down my face.
I like to boil, the red skin of my neck reflects this.
I feel the steam rise from my shoulders, and my throat leaves out an involuntary gasp of relief.
Soon my mind takes me to better places, deep space and the Great Barrier Reef.
The hot water always cools, often leaving me in a state of disbelief.
And like a bubble, my ideal reality bursts leaving me to bath in my own silence which invades my ears like a siren.

The happiness in your eyes fill my void,
very temporary -
however for a split second,
I feel more human than android.

I am an emotional sponge, so please be mindful of what you spill.
I would do anything for you, but know I have my own demons to ****.
My days are spent far from sober, I trap myself in an inebriated haze powered by the plant that’s dubbed me a stoner.
Every day follows a similar repetition - a joint becomes six, as I nail myself to my crucifix.