Standing in time, the world shuttling around me, can’t catch my breath.
Thoughts of sobriety scare the hell of me.
Gatta find a corner; cover my head with my hands,
Crouch in the fetal position, and scream, or cry
I want an over start, not a start over.
I want to pretend I am someone else,
Instead of finding out who I am. Then again,
Who would I be if I were not truly myself?
See, I have no choice in this,
Our devotion has nothing to do with emotion,
It’s a fixation for non-contemplation,
A sensation I am not near ready to negate.
I am shackled by addiction, the affliction that has lead me to my conflicting convictions.
I want to give up on substances,
Break free from the domination of sedation,
The infatuation with a concentration
On feeling absolutely nothing.
Why am I unable to walk away?
Why can I not leave what is over behind?
I have already lost too much time
Locking myself out of my mind.
The cost of karma, is one reason.
The backlash of three fold. I don’t want that course.
I want to reach my inner peace,
Not grow old trying to find a way to make things right.
I want to be sober, I want to be free, I want to be with someone who actually loves me
There is a man, not my captor, and
We have something, and it is nothing but
An age appropriate relationship,
At an inappropriate time.
He is waiting for me.
Waiting for me to cut myself free
From the bondage of dependent addiction, as I contemplate
reasons to stall my dominators’ eviction.
Maybe it’s me, Maybe its sobriety I fear.
Maybe living, unloved, untouched, ignored,
and numbed is how it has to be.
Maybe love can only exist for me as a dream.
I have to eat what I have plated, because if I bail out now who knows what I will bail on next.