The Wagon Crashed and Burned …
Alcoholism hits home to so many families. This is so personal for me, as I’ve dealt with it from my own and now someone from my family’s point of view. We shared similar stories and feelings. I wrote it from my own perspective but it is a collective thought from others who have experienced the horrors of being an alcoholic.
The Wagon Crashed and Burned
I cried when I knew there was nothing left to demonize
These eyes tired, and scarred with surprise from demons inside
I’d surmise that they were mine and their disguise was so empty,
It was tempting how many times I could bend me, it was petty
To think big, a guinea pig of sorts, but why can’t they help me?
Was it the madness I made in myopic gaze, please tell me.
This suit of skin is deflective though it chinks at the worst times,
reminds me I’m not invincible since that would be asinine
though I must be inclined to say, that I am worth it,
Though no one is perfect or deserves shit, but on the surface,
These circuits were crossed, my whole life was traveled divergent
From the norm, for lack of a better purpose, I’m a misfit resurgent
My goals were surfeit with mental mishaps and cruel endeavors
in melancholy displeasure, I dined on forever
never lobbying for my soul, in stormy weathers I stay whole,
Consult with my father often, and we speak of future goals,
How the treasures lost in my mind can be found in my soul
Sometimes I need to unwind and take a stroll for control.
Other times in this foxhole, I dodge bullets with meanings
Words intended for grieving and weaving, repeating
lost reasons, past demons, things that eat away with spirits
where the tunnel clearance was nothing more but glass floors, peerless,
funny how those spirits and demons gain perseverance
and those I’ve kept so dearest, and nearest, were disappearing.
I would count my days of coherence like a king’s ransom,
too often I would bang drums, scuffles, and fistfights were canon
something you’d plan on, and everyday abandon all logic
it was my narcotic, I couldn’t stop it, I was neurotic
This shit was toxic, though the high at first was so exotic,
Yet that feeling was the real rationale why I got sick.
The core was rotted, caustic, infected by a burden,
The bourbon was flowing and the hydro was burning
The curtains were closed, uncertain what would surface, what evil
Would come forth, this demon so primeval since my fetal
Existence, I thought if I were to give myself to Jesus,
His reasons, that freedom would present itself for retrieval.
But demons find more ways to be lethal, than four walls with steeples
Can heal people, and I have no answers, no bibles to read from
My cathedral has no needles, no pills, just snifters and flagons
The dragon and anger come quicker, the poison is lagging
It saddens me every time I fall from the bandwagon,
In a ditch, the next day, can’t remember what happened.
Strapped in for another 12-step program goddamn I can’t stand,
Too much flimflam and scams, end up being on Prozac
Because they tell me I’m depressed and the cognac is my filler,
Tripped up on step 2 now I’m hooked on those mini killers
Or pain-numbing liquors, the shivers attack like a trigger
A sight too familiar, how much quicker the liver will hurt.
But who am I kidding, I flirt with pain, daily in its clutch,
I think liquor is a switch to stop me from feeling too much.
Maybe I’m shrewd, but be that as such, that is not how I’m viewed.
A man with a crutch, one I lean on too much, the drama accrued,
A nightmare of delusions, one conclusion I can touch or include
is, the nightmare lingers until someone or something is consumed.
The cause I presume, is I feel too much, I’m too easy to break,
I never have the luxury to assume a dull ache.
I choose to stay awake through the intricacies of peril,
The dogged ferocities of a solitary pebble,
A pebble skipping through the cataclysmic oceans of my Hell,
Each plop echoes loudly inside, each skip starts to meddle.
I peddle benevolence from my core, then watch it disappear,
Sold to the nearest bidder, their motives unclear.
So many times, I volunteer joy as if I’m undeserving,
And lurking in that backdrop is the cause of my unnerving.
It is a bit concerning now, how self-pity keeps emerging,
How it’s my vocation, perceived as something I’ve been rehearsing.
I feel the emptiness lurking at the surface like some new version,
of old me waiting to jump in and emerge before it worsens,
though I’m certain it will worsen, it always does before the purpose
Too many times the steps are intended to be earnest,
But being so nervous of relapsing, those tendencies resurface
And those steps become the true connection of what worth is.
Reflecting the past, I was that person who left you wordless,
A purchase of surplus, conforming to the chaos circus
The calamity furnished for my surface, desensitized
And habituated to drunken norms, the monster inside
Had plenty of time to mature and able to mobilize,
It seized my life, left me trapped inside myself and paralyzed.
I never thought I’d pirate the desires of a bibulous person
That to feel, I’d have to find the nethermost of a bourbon
To deal with the hurting, I would need the burning, the room spinning
The yearning for freedom in the purview, the falsehood of winning
Now caught in my own prison, casualties accrued from sinning,
I pray to God, that I could start over from the beginning.