I’m old

I don’t really go in for that kind of fun anymore

Much

The appeal of decadence and the call of glorious self-destruction have ebbed over the years

Too many life lessons, too many “there but by the grace of god”

To turn down that wreck littered alley

Now my only addictions are strictly functional

Logical

Lesser little evils

Tiny bells

Sometimes I think if I could change this one last thing about my life then I could break out of this trap

This role I never intended to play

As a drain on society

Everyone’s favorite inspiration

Famous for trying

Known for not giving up

But

I’m not quite ready to quit

I’m not quite ready

I’m not…quite

I’m not

I’m hanging on by a thread

Everyday

Some days just a little bit

But everyday

My body mutinies

It rises from the deep

Behind my eyes

Up my nose

Dripping down my throat

My gut

Infects the brain

Where the synapses don’t fire right

My head gets all dark and occluded

I can’t think in a straight line

I can’t hold all the little pieces together

I can’t

It is this intolerability that consumes me

When I hold out until I decide

Under duress

That I can hold out no longer

And hate myself for that decision

If I were a better poet

You will not understand

A red button

A modicum of control

An escape hatch

I take a puff or two

Or four

And

Better something than nothing

Better slowly than not at all

Better to forget then praying for death

Today will be a compromise

Again

I’m more or less good to go for an hour or so

Then it’s a slow decline

The sound of tiny bells

Getting louder

* * * * * *

Some days I wake up feeling the way I used to

Thinking clearly

This is the way it’s supposed to be

Sitting at my desk

Catching up again

On my well days

My sober days

My normal human being days

The tiny bells subside

It’s possible to shut them out

With the psalm, “I’m getting better and better, amen”

Step by laborious step

Maybe we can start again

Maybe we can build…

Until

â€ƒ

I’m sitting across from a friend with nothing to say

Empty space for a mouth

Dry

Without inspiration

Without the gift of conversation

And no amount of water, juice or iced cold iced tea is going to fill that up

Just be, Pema says, “just be”

But the seconds stack up to form insurmountable hours

Waiting

Waiting for it like holding my breath

Passed along I hold you in my hand

And when I pass you back then I am becoming whole again

* * * * * *

Is it a cop-out to say I’m damaged beyond repair?

That without you, my love, there’s no one here

So many years

We met when I was only fourteen

Half formed

Already betrayed by endogenous chemicals

The tyranny of the possible

Mouth held in check by fear too long

Learned hard that lesson

Wondered in mourning through nothing

Until the fog parted

To reveal a grassy field

At the center of which stood a door

There were many years where I kept it together

Went to the finest school

Held many jobs

I even had a lover

For many years

There were many years where I sailed onward

Against hardships

Past rarely charted waters

Over the edge of the world

To become

* * * * * *

I’ve been told by my psychiatrist that full-time paid employment is not a realistic goal for everyone

(For me

For him it’s an identity)

A friend, and a therapist, have politely suggested that I may be codependent

–I don’t know what I would do without ‘em ;D–

So I try not to form too close a bond

They’re all special

But no one’s essential

It hurts less that way,

True love is not a realistic goal for everyone

I want to go back

Recapture that lost child of possibilities

That primordial wilderness

Hold you in my heart

But I could not hold you tight enough to become you

There’s no going back

This body is middle aged and tired

Neural paths deeply laid

Pipelines of pleasure and pain

I watch the wrinkles radiate out from my eyes like cracks in the salt flats

I need to stop using so much marijuana

I need to stop using so much

I need to stop using

I need to stop

I need…

Someone to call my own

Someone who wants to be with me more than anyone else in the whole world

Something to make me whole

A career that is recognized

Appreciated

–I mean paid–

Something to make me valuable

Because I feel worthless

Useless down to my bones

I keep limping in circles

Opening the same door

Trying to find my way home