It’s telling when the stuff you’ve done scares even yourself.

It’s only scary afterwards, of course. When you’re doing it, it always feels justified. No dissenting voice of reason: it’s as though your conscience just upped and left, disgusted, not wanting to have anything more to do with your actions. With you.

5 am in the morning again. Not sleeping. Not able to sleep. Damn, the cigarette pack is empty again. AGAIN! How much more can the body take. Time to open another pack: at least that lends SOME purpose to tonight. Purpose is hard to come by these days.

Self-reflection feels like the morning after a party, and here’s all that’s left: the empty bottles and cigarette butts.



Enuf


“So many self-imposed restrictions,
So much I want to say.
So little for me to hold on to,
So much has slipped away.”