Lost in Space (Poem)

How can someone who burns so hot be so cold?
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?

It’s like I’m lost in space and I can’t go home

The further I drift
The hotter I burn
The colder it gets
The more I yearn

For something less painful than the stake in my back
I can’t relax
I can’t look at myself
This can’t go on
I’m still trying to make sense of it

I can’t make amends to it

Maniac (Poem)

How can someone who burns so hot be so cold?
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?

It’s like I’m lost in space
And I can’t go home

The further I drift
The hotter I burn

The colder it gets
The more I yearn

For something less painful than the stake in my back

I can’t relax
I can’t look at myself

Step One: What addiction looks like for me (Twelve Steps)

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.

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. 

Id, Ego & Superego (Journal Entry)

Here I go again. My id got the best of me. I run from my life til I can’t get away then it’s back to the same old drunken charade. I don’t know how I got here. Or at least that’s what I like to say. I know exactly how I got here. My I can’t admit my blame.