Only Heaven Knows (Lyrics)

Here’s to all the
Hell if I knows
No goodbye notes
Lost the light
Better when you’re woke

Step One: The Pink Cloud (Journal Entry)

Last time I got sober I went through the Pink Cloud Syndrome, which lasted for ten months and ended in broken windows and a trip to the psych ward followed by a devastating relapse. At the time I was unaware of the pink cloud. I didn’t find out about the pink cloud until 1 1/2 years later when I entered rehab. 

Step One: Denial (Journal Entry)

“How dare anyone tell me I have a problem. I have been wronged. I have been mistreated. Everyone on the planet is a complete moron. I’m sick of being told I need to wait on the sidelines and accept the fact that I am doomed to destruction because everyone else has a problem. If I am forced to eat everyone else’s shit then I’m gonna drink while I do it so you can save the wagon for someone else…”

My excuses for drinking could go on and on for days…

BLACKOUT (Journal Entry)

I came to
Fuck am I?

Shit, the psych ward again
Fuck I do this time?
Here comes the nurse
Lemme act like I’m sleeping

“It’s time to get going”
Fuck am I wearing
Shit, no shoes
And it’s raining
Here comes the walk of shame 

Step One: What addiction looks like for me

As I have descended into the pit of physical, spiritual, mental and emotional decay, my life has become unmanageable. I find myself obsessing over people, places and things that have no direct impact on my current situation; my past, everything I lost, the news, how stupid I think everyone is, how much I hate honkeys.

Such mindless obsessions lead to compulsive behaviors; pacing, biting my nails, trips to the fridge, smoking cigarettes. By the end of the day I feel exhausted from the wreckage in my brain and just want to drink myself to sleep.

I am completely oblivious to the impact my actions have on those around me. It’s like I’m in my own self-imposed prison and I am the judge, jury and executioner whose consequences pertain to myself alone. I am inconsiderate of the fact that there are teenagers in the house who look up to me and take ques from my actions. I don’t care that my children are somewhere out there possibly concerned about me. I extinguish any flicker of hope in becoming a leader in the revolution by beligerently belting out whatever drunken tweet I can manage to produce while in total blackout.

My disease has thrown me into physical, mental, emotional and spiritual ruin. I am physically drained to the point where I don’t want to get out of bed most days. My mental exhaustion causes me to contimplate suicide regularly. I am emotionally distraught and completely powerless over depression. And I am spiritually incapable of summoning the will to carry on and build a new life founded on serenity.

My Only Wish (Journal Entry)

I wish I were a great writer. The type that never grows old. Endlessly quoted by inspiration junkies. Taught in schools across the globe. 

I want to be revered for my works, my contribution to mankind. Not for what I have or what I flaunt or where I live or how I dine.

I want to write words that paint a picture so vivid and divine you could sail the sea of wisdom, a thousand words to clear your mind. 

I want to dwell among the greatest, hold rank at the highest spot. And when I’m gone I’ll live forever through the words I have begot. 

Listen to Everyone ( Journal Entry)

Listen to everyone. We all have a story. We all hold a piece to the puzzle that unlocks the vault of glory. We all have a dream, a wisdom to behold. We all have a plan, we all want to be heard. 

Everyone stumbles, everyone lies. Everyone hurts, everyone cries. Everyone judges what they do not know. Everyone wants what they fail to sow. 

But tucked up in a mountain hidden far away, out of sight, out of mind, in a jar of clay. There’s a map to a treasure hidden in our souls. Those who seek alas find the love they can’t show. 

The Winepress of Hate (Journal Entry)

The delusions of mankind are like shards beneath my feet, bruises on my skin, a fight that I can’t win. I’m drowning in a winepress of narcissistic hate. Peddled out to foolish trolls drunk on hurt and fame. 

They stomp it out, then bottle it up, and pass it off as love. But the mess that’s left behind is all but brushed under the rug. 

The fruit of the vine that keeps on giving, never stops, it carries on. When everything is taken, new life begins to grow. Gathered into compost, scattered in the fields, feeding all the new vines for generations yield. 

So you can throw me in the winepress of narcissistic hate. You can take what’s worth the giving and leave the rest to fate. But beware of the delusion that you’re the one in charge as you sip upon my vengeance and blackout in the yard. 

A Letter to Myself (Journal Entry)

Dear Sweet Maria,

If every famous love quote were compiled into a song, my love for you would remain unsaid. Your passion sets me off into a frenzy of incoherent jitterbugs. Your strength in the forefront of repetitive injury can only be described as the spirit of grace. 

When you fall, you get back up with thrice the wisdom you had before. And even when you fall again, I have no doubt you will endure. 

I am twitterpated by your beauty, not just the cover, but the book that lurks beneath. If you ever gave up on dreaming the Earth would tremble in despair.

Eternal Love,

Maria

Mother Dearest (Journal Entry)

I hate my reflection. A daily reminder of the fool I came to be. Every imperfection, every self-inflicted scar. Every time I look into those sullen eyes it’s like the record hits play on every memory I wish I could forget.

When I was younger I had so many dreams, so much hope for a beautiful life. The one thing I lacked is what drove me into hell.