Okay, there's only two things that i've written here at the moment, but i'm sure i'll expand it later, eventually. For the benefit of people who've seen this before, i'll put the most recent stuff at the top.
rage
maintain control
and here's the older one...
thinking
You try to get inside my head,
for one more day
one day at a time.
day by day by day
things get worse
You find a new way
to deal with It.
to deal with the rage. the anger.
It can be tamed, but
It can break free and defy
control.
It will do what You let It do.
if You keep it inside, It will grow,
monumental amounts of energy
until It just explodes.
care too much,
about other people.
care not enough,
about Yourself.
Your fragile body cannot contain
all of the rage.
Your frail body cannot handle
the abuse.
Don't turn It inside.
Turn It inside-out.
Let It out, don't keep It in.
Don't let It out
on Yourself. Your fragile body.
Just leave Yourself
alone.
All alone.
Because no one understands,
Not because they can't,
Because they choose not to.
Forget about It.
Forget it, you say.
You can take care of Yourself.
And I try to get out.
I try to stop thinking
But I can't do it alone,
I have help.
Jose, Jack, and the rest.
They all help me stop thinking
And they understand me
When I don't understand myself.
They're there now, calling me,
And I can't answer.
I can hear them.
I can smell them.
I can taste them.
But I can't answer, I must not answer.
Leave me alone, I say. But they don't listen.
No one listens, really. I don't, they don't.
I hear them. I try not to listen, but they call me.
Every day they call me.
Who was there for you when you needed it? They ask.
No one but you, I want to answer, but I can't.
I must not. My stomach twists as if to say,
Where's that warm, burning feeling?
It's soothing, the warmth. Relaxing.
It burns all the way down my throat and into my stomach
As I smell the sickly sweet reminder--
You're going to forget.
If only for a little while.
It settles in the pit of my stomach,
A little warm fireplace to retreat to.
I smell that feeling, I can still taste it,
In every drink I can taste it, although it's not there.
I smell it everywhere.
The smell is like a shot to the brain, a little reminder, whispering,
"You need this."
It's not true, it can't be.
It's still calling to me.
But it's getting quieter. Slowly, slowly, it's getting softer,
Harder to hear.
It doesn't have to be loud, I listen harder and harder.
It gets harder and harder every day to ignore them calling.
Shut up! Leave me alone! I scream inside my head.
My stomach twists some more, and I get a headache.
It feels like my brain is pounding on the inside of my skull,
Pleading desperately for freedom.
I scream at them, How are you so good to me,
And so horribly bad at the same time?!
How do they do it?
I thought for a while that they were my friends.
Jose Cuervo. Jack Daniels. B&B. Gin. Vodka. Scotch. Baileys. Whiskey.
Kahlua. Schnapps. Countless kinds of beer.
I don't care about myself.
I would have answered their call again,
If it weren't for the people who tell me not to.
The people who care about me, who worry about me.
And I've never heard their voices or seen their faces.
As faceless as my other so-called friends.
Who do I listen to? Who's right?
I ask as if I don't know...
What's right..
I care enough to do it for the people who care for me, just enough...
I do it for them, not for me. For them.