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