Self Medicated

In the depths of the night, where nightmares creep,

Lies a bottle, a crutch, where sorrows do sleep.

A liquid escape, a numbing so deep,

In its embrace, life’s secrets can’t keep.

Words once guarded, now reckless and wild,

Spill like the drink, from the heart of a child.

Promises broken, paths defiled,

In the haze of the drink, nothing is mild.

The road calls, a dangerous game,

Wheels turn in a blur, who is to blame?

A dance with fate, fuelled by flame,

In alcohol's grip, all logic is lame.

Gone is the wisdom, the thought of dread,

As the night unfolds, all sense has fled.

Tomorrow is lost, regrets fuzzy in bed.

What have I done…replays in my head.

So raise a glass to drunken nights on a throne.

To the nights lost, to the seeds sown.

In alcohol's grip, our true selves are shown,

On this self-medicated trip, we travel alone.

The Past

You think I’ll let you in again?

Attempts to tear at me from within?

Strategic and manipulative your motive.

Negative and destructive, you are so corrosive.

You cast a shadow on those that see.

For those that don’t, so fake you’ll be.

Walls up high with suspect grace.

Walls crash down reveals true face.

Only a few will know you true.

Broken down by a cast of few.

Never healed and forever lost.

Destroying all with no care of cost.

The Ride

Nothing in life comes without cost.

Whether it’s time or money….spent is still lost.

Choosing what to trade for success’s hard chase.

There is no place to start and it’s a long grueling race.

The truth is the finish line is not a place you can get.

It’s not one of life’s real places and it’s hard to admit.

You’ll spend life chasing dreams or this thing you call fate.

It can leave you defeated and in a variable state.

Perspective defined by the owners limited sight.

Success being measured by what’s wrong not what’s right.

The secret you’ll find was in the moments you past.

Enjoying the ride regardless of how fast.

As you pick up your feet and put them back to the ground.

Take a deep breathe and just slow it all down.

Mute

It's a very sad day when your voice isn't heard. When you've lost the power to convey even a word. What does one do when you haven't a voice? Decisions aren't cheap when you haven't a choice. Some find it best to just keep it in. Then explode when it builds every now and again. Others they try and continue to speak. Never to be heard, all timid and meek. Does the reality remain that there is no repair? To never be heard is harsh and not fair. There maybe a solution, a different road, different course. Maybe the issue is to whom you are speaking and not just the source. Could it be that your words truly have meaning? Is it possible that fault lies the direction you're leaning? So the repair could be simple and not complicated at all. Maybe it's time you stop aiming words at a wall. - dsa 3.13

The Fight

That last round was the hardest one yet. It wasn’t my last, on that you can bet. I can breathe in my corner as I’ve survived once again. Sadly this fight is not one all fighters win. I can’t tell you for sure how many rounds I have fought. I can tell you for certain at least twice I’ve been caught. Against the ropes tired, trying to keep up my hands. As my opponent comes at me, again and again. A tireless adversary that adheres to no laws. Hiding in shadows and exploiting my flaws. My vision distorts as I hang by a thread. Survivals not easy when the fights in your head.

January

Do you hear that, it’s quiet.  No talking, no yelling, no hints of a riot.  The landscape looks warm to the bare naked eye.  The truth is it’s cold, I think I might die.  I whisper for help, no one responds.  The ties to that life are just broken bonds.  A struggle grows, it’s internal and hot.  It’s hard to decide what it is, what it’s not.  Sleep doesn’t help because sleep isn’t real.  Sleep barely masks all the pain that I feel.  Time will help, patience is key.  I need to time travel back to be me.  This moment still quiet, space still confined.  I’m all alone, just me and my mind.

Semicolon;

Only selfish people do it; stigma, lie, wrong.  Only the weak can pull a trigger; nope, mentally & physically strong.  Life just isn’t that bad; you must not pay attention.  He seemed so happy though; emotionally alone with affliction.  Why would he take the easy way; EASY? did you walk in his shoes?  I mean what could be so bad; did you know about the abuse?    I heard he only cares about himself; rumors are so historically true.  But he had kids; and I bet he considered that too.

It’s just so easy to cast judgement from across the room.  I bet you know nothing about that man there in the tomb.  You act as though you’re sad; casting judgments what you say.  He didn’t see another option; clearly this was his only way.  You think it was easy; ending everything he’s ever known?  I promise you he struggled; it’s not easy being alone.  His thoughts they consumed him;  he faded from what’s real.  But the man that wrote this poem; ended everything to not feel.

The First of 8

The night was fueled by alcohol and misplaced emotions and thoughts. The words that poured out hit their target where they sought. As responses of reactions aimed back to seek harm...the physical punches landed, sounded off the alarm. This wasn’t the first time that the violence landed flush with the skin. It was really more a question of how and of when. When would the insecurities reveal themselves once again? They’d plagued this so much, it was “just how it’s been”. Anger grew rapidly with words of hate spewing fast. The thoughts of sustainability were once there but they passed. A culture of no trust guided by previous love. Had left this romance of perfection dangling from one string above. When it finally crashed, there was so much fallout and dust. When it all finally settled, there was also no “us”. -dsa

The Garden

I once had a garden where I went to labor.  It collected my time, it collected my favor.  My garden then grew, double in size.  And people took notice of effort and tries.  I received praise and my friends all would boast.  It was my garden but my pride wasn’t most.  Finally one day I accepted my place.  There was excitement and joy and it was seen on my face.  For the longest of time I was quiet and humble.  Then I awoke but this would soon crumble.  See it was my friends that said “enjoy your hard work.  Don’t sit in the back and peer up and just lurk.  Step into the light and bask in the glory.  This is your moment, this is your story”.  Once this took place, everything spun.  Those by my side quietly folded one by one.  I could feel the loneliness begin to take hold.  In a short bit of time my garden was cold.  When the garden was bright and the garden was fresh...I was still working and my world did mesh.  It was all fine when I was so quiet.  As soon I spoke it was dark and no light.  My joy comes from friends and life in the garden.  My joy is now gone and my attitude hardened.  I’m all alone like a train with no track.  And as for the garden, I don’t want to go back. -dsa

Gossip Plagued

In a town where whispers breed like flies, a place once pure, now plagued with lies. Where gossip's venom fills the air, its soul corrupted, stripped and bare. The streets are lined with painted smiles, where decency lies drowned in their bile. A masquerade, a cruel facade, honesty froze and never thawed. Once idyllic, now a pit, small town values are counterfeit. Where decency and truth are slain, a monument to human shame. In shadows lurk the grinning fiends, sharpened eyes and piercing gleams. Their eyes aglow with cruel delight, in the darkness, they consume all light. Each whispered word, a poison dart, to crush the spirit, break the heart. Aimed to puncture, shred and tear, and leave a soul in deep despair. No one is safe, no life their own, their hearts are cold, their conscience gone. As gossip feeds their twisted minds, the small town's warmth, a mere disguise. Let my story serve as a warning, beware the whispers in the morning. In this place, where souls are bared, a village lost, a town ensnared. -dsa