I want it.
No,need it,
the panacea;
Or, perhaps
the exhilaration
of the release
trailing after it –
unsure which;
Does it matter?
Drink to numb.
Calories purged.
Caffeine pulsing.
All drenched
in familiar relief.
The isolation
I don’t want,
but it’s mine,
handcuffed to me,
by a rusted padlock
made of shame.
Addiction swims in
vast oceans of alone.
Sunrise sees today’s
plans, etched in stone.
Decisive.
Immutable.
Unchanging.
The answer to
this daily riddle:
How to soothe
sadness’s ache
ever-lingering,
soul-deep within?
All unobstructed
paths to the prize
are bathed in lies.
Always indelible,
a clear-cut route,
never to be
fucked with.
Try to intervene,
strangling tendrils
hellbent on success
will simply tighten.
Do you not realize?
This is unstoppable.
It knows all the rules.
It made all the rules.
It owns me, you see.
I’m striving, endlessly
to outrun it. Or stop it,
but no barricade is
impassable enough.
It’s swamping me,
pulling me under,
twisting my mind;
no lifejackets here.
So, I dive deep,
yet again.
In the watery dark,
enveloping me,
I quickly find it:
prize of poison.
It soothes me,
releasing me;
I can breathe.
Until tomorrow.
Prize of Poison
