Back from the depths again, my friend.
Back to the top with the other men.
Back from the place we’ve always been,
In the light,
Yet nigh it is,
Until the time we climb again.
It’s a mind-body connection problem. The PTSD
of a life-threatening addiction. The weight
of a depressive condition. The prison
of insanity. We have to face the truth
We have to find direction.
Having a reference point is helpful but,
it kills the romance. Sanity as a goal, a place; it’s
quite the commitment. Really kills the moment.
It simply orders, “This way to good, this way to right.”
And so we cling to our petty rebellions,
our egos and our lust. Eyeballing the fantasy
of healing and growth, while not having the courage
to ask it on a date. Too scared to fall in love.
Too weak to love ourselves.
So, the balance tips, the chest deflates.
And we’re left sitting, anxious.
I drew it in deeply,
a few times,
until a cough came creeping.
To my surprise,
I began thinking,
with heavy eyes,
shouldn’t I be sleeping?
Why am I outside?
After a slow blink
and heavy sigh,
I set it down
in a small, round rivet;
just the right size.
I took my time
and watched it burn.
Smoke trails turned and sailed.
Ember crawled and ashes fell.
I watched on.
I felt pale.
It’s taken so much of me.
It’s had enough of me.
How many days have I traded
to a burning stick?