What once was

I used to wake up to a hellish state of mind time and time again

to series after series of cryptic dreams and interactive delusions

slip, slip, sliding away,

and of course i would be

unable to rationalize a painful reality,

unable to fingersnap click it all away,

and

unable to even fall back into the escape of a tormented sleep.

I would wonder if I would ever be able to wake up anywhere else.

You see, it was once easy and usual that i would successfully twist myself right up with the overcomplications of me, always wrongly deciding to do what i thought needed to be done to save my preffered image of self

and of course i would be,

unable to make a coherent stand,

unable to take a second chance,

and

unable to even fake a dive.

I would wonder, externally quiet if i could perhaps self convincingly attempt to play it safe in the mutual succor sharing philosophical gatherings trumpeting a standard one size fits all one day at a time obtained sobriety,

a sobriety once cynically thought by me to be realized only by way of memorized mental motions and monotonic moves coupled with a vocally overemphasized embracal of a dogmatic religious devotions fold, one of course complete with an all forgiving past and future sin escape clause in case of unavoidable and unmanageable self denigrating behaviour in cyclic relapse.

as all that and those then subsequent transitory withdrawal inspired wishes for an insanities convenient reality expungal

and

a lashing fear of that hellish state of minds looming possibility of permanance by self soulful lobotomization would stand confrontationally poised in my my mind weapons ready,

of course i was,

unable to fix the odds,

unable to hedge my bet,

and

unable to discard my hand.

I wonder if i would ever be able to stand up and stand for the real fight,

the fight long dessicated cliche,

a fight between my ears,

a fight behind my eyes,

A war raging beneath the prideful image of self determinate control that masked a sense of jealously,

a subconcious Nietzchean envy all hidden in the shadows of my hollow displays of contempt for the deep down secretly desired sub-cultural utter gutter chemical lifestyles possibility of no chance to have to acknowledge any of that madness or anything else contrary agains oblivion,

and of course i was always

unable to justify that desire for indugence,

unable to understand my thirst for intoxication,

and

unable to defend the illogical nature of my addiction.

I wondered what if? from there in the silenced sanity section of those hellish states of minds physical realities,

realities of cacaphonous rote structured dry eyed and predictable character kleptomaniacs always merrily making mockery and madmen of those like me struggling in vain shame to obtain hope and maintain a rational mind by repetitivly battering me with animated charade gesture presented stories, lies and other random sights and sounds,

the same old sights and sounds of nothing much and little enough

and of course i was,

unable to psycotropically dope dose it all away,

unable to make the dramatic wrist cut,

and

unable to make myself believe i would if i could in a soul that was usually feeling unworthy of continued existence or forgiveness at those times

and oh yeah

unable to imagine that i would wake up anytime soon to anything else than those hellish states of mind.

I

Shhh!

Shatter the glass image time,

Let me see beyond the mask I wore,

Shock me gently if you must.

Lift me above all the gutters of my yesterdays as my battle cry

"NEVER ENOUGH"

Without chemically induced conviction, fades to a broken whisper.

Shhh! My beating heart, it is only I approaching.

 

Sweep away the shards time,

Let me step beyond the broken pieces,

Push me gently if you will.

Push me through the door that stands alone into a world without walls.

Let me drift in supplicatory surrender.

Shhh! My beating heart, it is only conscience encroaching.

 

Destroy my misconceptions time,

Let me confront the lies I loved,

Confess me gently if you can.

Hear how I always sounded in a reality of chemically scripted character.

Shhh! My beating heart, it is just our chapter and verse.

 

Exorcise my misguided fallacies time,

Let me get the joke I lived,

Mock me gently if you do.

Show me how to laugh at the folly of my Internal Anarchies once grand production.

Shhh! My beating heart, it cannot get much worse.

 

Clear the stage time, let me pick the part I play,

Cue me gently if you can, dim the lights and quiet the set.

Pull the trigger, control the bleed,

As the last tear over wasted eternities of yesterday's wells and dramatically rolls.

Shhh1 my beating heart, listen to the echo of your life.

Last breath

How many last breaths does it take getting down too, before some sort of clarity is reached?

How many mistakes have to be repeated until I learn the lesson being teached?

How many second chances can be reasonably expected in favors to GOD being desperately asked?

How many tears will I actually be able to shed, when I realize a current breath might be my last?

 

When will I stop looking for the proper hole to lay down in ,in beautiful misery to find my oblivion a little faster?

When will I stop cursing the powers that be for callously interrupting my perfect portrayal of a human disaster?

When will I get tired of falling flat on my face to counter the vertigo pulling me into the abyss of my disease?

When will I realize it's easier to step back from that abyss if instead I slowly rise up from bended knees?

 

Why did it take teetering on an edge at a bitter end as the last man standing to seek GOD"S spiritual dimension?

Why did all those last breaths not segue into last gasps if not for his divine intervention?

Why will it take total surrender to find strength in the confession that I was always living so horribly wrong?

Why did it take an almost last breath to be able to hear and face the music of my reality hiding between the minor notes of deaths song?

 

So , what will I find right now when I open my eyes no longer on an edge exhaling away the vestiges of self- deception?

What will I find myself seeing when I look into my own eyes in the mirror of untainted self- reflection?

What kind of stand will I take as the world finally stops spinning in a downward spiral?

What kind of truth can I expect to find blooming in the wreckage of my pasts tear drenched wasteland of denial?

 

All I can do is whatever it takes, humbling myself and giving it all I got,

All I have to do is catch my breath and sit down in the seat this sobriety and my surrender has already bought.

All that I can be begins now as I back away from the shadows at the edge of the valley of my almost death after death after death.

Accepting that all I might be on my worst sober day will be much more than I ever was at the instant of my best last breath.