One way or another...

I'm a little off balance. I never realized it was a problem until I started veering right and discovered I'm more comfortable doing wrong. I've got this thing inside me that tells me not to care because when I do it turns out bad. Friends, family, lovers, co-workers, even strangers. It never goes the way it should. Heartbreak, anguish, disenchantment, even thoughts of destroying it all. I'm better off without me. I'm better off afraid. Not of the world, but of myself. Only I can destroy the things I love. The things I cherish. The things I hold most dear. I am my own keeper. Not even my own brothers can save me now.

I have thoughts like this all of the time. I'm tortured by them. I cannot escape my own paranoia or my own regrets. So much life lived, so much destroyed. I tell myself it is time to settle down. To build something, to create something. And, it is. I'm right but I cannot defeat this wrong. I torture myself and love others. The point? Amiss. It doesn't really matter now. It doesn't. I'll either defeat the demons inside me and move on or I'll vanquish myself and lay in the fire. Flesh burned, ashes in the amber. A shell, a memory. Defeat.

Or... rebirth. The man I always thought I would be... or the dust I always feared I would become. Nothing matters now. Fate will decide. Memories of laughter or fears of remorse. This moment will decide it all. Determine my destiny. Darkness and decay or light and new life. Time will tell. My story forgotten or rebirth bringing on revelation.

I drink for the lost, and awaken for the redeemed.
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Image taken from: http://www.fightyourseattledui.com/images/DUIpic2.jpg

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The Darkness

Sometimes I forget myself. I tend to do it in the strangest of places. Like the bench at Union Station or the weight bench in my friend's garage. Little benchmarks of indiscretion scattered about the city. Reminders of pills popped, illicit baggies blowing in the wind and unprotected sex with women of questionable morals and vaginal hygiene.

I prayed to my gods in the hopes that they would let me play with their creations. Give me your deformed, your dismembered, your disingenuous monsters plotting to murder me.  I'll enjoy and devour them all. Nothing is too fucked up. Nothing is too scary. Nothing is too shocking. I want more, more...

And then shit gets dark. Really dark. Drunk as shit and can't find the light switch in the bathroom dark. I go too far. I do things I'd regret someday if I wasn't a sociopath. I start to get scared. People start looking strange and foreign and they start to treat me like I'm foreign and strange. This isn't my place anymore. I shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't be here. I start to run from the fear. I trip over a little girl on her way to school and I scream before she starts to cry. Then I start crying and frantically look for a place to hide.

I see a fellow traveler. She's wearing sunglasses and looks haggard. I ask her for help and she gives me a sip of her coffee. I spit it out. It tastes like shit. That diabetic demon bitch has fooled me for the last time. She's slowed me down and I can't stop running. I can't burn out. Always running... Running from everything. Running from nothing, running for nothing. I can't. I just can't.
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Image taken from: http://maggiemcneill.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/man-in-dark-alley.jpg

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