Good Enough

On my 45th birthday:

I am good with my word, happy to let my secrets be heard.
Circling the drain once again, feels warm as the water pulls me in.
Belief in these expectations, and I’ve played the fool.
Buying all the hype, fitting every stereotype, won’t you tender me?
Waited so long for this to become a reality.
Time and time again, failed me, failed you, failed everyone I knew.
I like when it all goes right, but it’s an exhaustive fight,
breaks my heart, the lost art.
No fault in being human, no fault in being less than.
Either way I’m good…

Stalemate

I’m stuck inside a stalemate I don’t know when it began,
I sure as hell couldn’t stop it then and I sure as hell can’t now
The only thing I know to do that works,
is sit and feel this hurt.

I’ve woken up so many time to wonder where I’m at,
I sure feel like I knew it, before I took this 4 day nap,
But I’ve grown to love this place, sitting with my pain.

I’ve become a stranger, to myself but no one else,
they all think I’ve got it down no need to call my bluff
How odd a place, which recognized my game, with nothing left to say.

If this was a daydream, I’d make sure I was a star,
A selfish vagabond who’s consumed with nothing more.
Than keeping all who love him safely at arm’s length.

So ruffle my pillow & make sure I’m awake,
There’s endless, new horizons
Yesterday can’t take.
All this reality is here and now
in every waking hour.

Swallowed up by the Earth

Is this how you imagined it, when you set out?

City streets, crossroads, seeking new faces.

They look the same, no longer strange, because everything has changed… Were there other plans to slip away?

And could you run, could you hide, or fathom an alternate life; with an ending that may have been written all along?

Its one hell of a ride. When it’s over, who decides? I can’t begin to imagine how you feel.

Just let go of the wheel.

Were there faces and names, broken engagements all written in flames, ashes trailing off in the sky. Sparing everyone else, to make them happy instead of yourself.

How well I play the victim.

Lit Up

I rise and I fall,
so what.
My mind is a racetrack.
I want it all and I want it back,
so what.
I’ve been here before: flashbacks, retreat and starting over.
Not as a rule, just survival.
My mind takes off again.
And there is no plug, no light switch.
There is no way I want this as my routine again.
I gave up so much the last time I got out of the ward.
So what.

Mind peeling away the rinds and underneath I find that I am responsible for the output, and what goes in, and nothing more.

Both Sides

“What can I do to save my friends from the same things that still try and destroy me?” – Tim

Seeing red, the devil in the details,
so widespread,
and I can see you bleeding from here.
You’re teetering on the fence:
the one side- a sewage drain, blackened stains, sulfuric air,
fallen in, knee deep & stuck,
corralled into the waiting cypher, where no one visits and nobody cares– no one that hasn’t already put up with enough.
On the other side, the grass looks plush,
clover underfoot, green/lush,
a spectacle; the propensity for charm,
the taller stalks of mint, backwashed into the soil.
Fresh scents, crushing the memory of pungent elixir,
weeping into the air,
lost it’s charm long before you ever got there.
Far too late to turn back now,
churns your heavy heart, aching limbs;
towards that insurmountable gape.

We never truly get there, we just keep… walking–
towards the sun, no longer your enemy;
towards the light, into something better than ‘right’,
that place you started and quickly devolved,
the awaiting fallout, pond scum and wet brain…
no family to absorb your sick,
your lonely– your pathetic reach for one more drink.
Knowing well, you chose the side where things don’t go to die.
The devil patiently waiting for his turn… as you turn your back.