High Water

Originally written 7.16.17 & 7.24.17

The wind rustles through the trees, whispering wants and needs that bring me to my knees.

Electricity in the air becomes more erratic, the cravings stay steady through the static.

Hazy and heavy, my vision turns smoky as my agenda becomes low key.

Onshore winds begin to gust, blowing in my yearning and lust.

The damp air hits my face, my mind fantasizes about the steady chase.

Rain is copious and cold, shame and guilt set in as the game grows old.

High waters rise with the tide, my hopes and dreams are breaking down along the roadside.

Traveling at high speeds, I allow him to grab the wheel and lead.

Out running the storm, racing against time, was I ever destined to shine?

Decisions are stone cold and rash, from the beginning it was irrefutable that I will crash.

Once all that was salted away is spent, I will be found alone and insolvent.

Delusion

Originally written 8.15.16

That heavy feeling overcomes me; it leaves me yearning for the sunrise.

That heavy feeling fills me with concrete; I see life as if it lacks the thrill of surprise.

That heavy feeling seems to embrace my being, using all of its force to engulf my mind.

That heavy feeling relates to my needs, it knows me well and swears not to leave me behind.

That heavy feeling begins to seem familiar; it takes notice of my insecurities and wraps its arms around my body.

That heavy feeling slowly shuts me down; it allows me to feel content, numb and lucky.

That heavy feeling soon turns from foe to friend, it smiles as it lights a fire in my soul.

That heavy feeling discreetly manipulates me, allowing the embers to burn as slow as coal.

That heavy feeling tricks me into embracing it, into needing it, into surviving for it.

That heavy feeling becomes a need on the sly, even though its treachery gives the illusion I am alive.

But, I have no confusion that there is a heavy loneliness when my mind, body, and soul is lacking its quick wit.

If it walked out on me tomorrow there is no doubt that I would drastically miss it; its understanding, its compassion and its strength will be grieved.

Without that heavy feeling my true self: mind, body and soul will feel as if it cannot be achieved.

Every Shadow Thrives on Light

Originally written 9.7.17 @ 8:50am

Nostalgia usually does much more harm than good. Music is one of the strongest connections to my past. What hurts me is that I tend to recall every detail of the excitement and the good, repressing the entire struggle and the bad. Reminisce about the euphoria, suppress the trauma. Strange what desire make foolish people do. It all relates back to perception. How I choose to perceive my experiences effects how I remember them. So, of course if I am not ready to turn my back on the false euphoria and the false warmth I fell in love with than every moment I remember will be that of desire, yearning and love. But, I reached my breaking point. I no longer desire that shaded truth I created in my mind. Now, I look behind me at those same moments and I see pain, struggle, and emptiness. The truth I create at any given moment depends on how I desire to recall past experiences. A single song can bring my body back to that desire fueled feeling. Bring me back to that chase. Nostalgia has a tendency to only bring above the surface what we pick and choose. Desire can act as both a virtue and a vice, depending on the being encompassing it. It may either drive you towards better, purer experiences or it may anchor you to a false perception of a dark and deserted under world in the deepest depths of mind. Depths where light struggles to cast its shadow. Desire is one emotion with two sides, two intents. Sometimes my light struggles to out shine my dark.

“What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you…
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do” – Chris Isaak

Endless Mirage

Originally written 10.22.17 @ 1pm

sonder: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

When walking along the sidewalk I observe others on their way to elsewhere, causing me to experience an overwhelming feeling that I can not pin down with a thought or two. I question where they may be going, what troubles may be on their mind, and always wonder what it must be like to live “normally” with out the thought of a high on the brink of each passing thought. But, I never wonder what their name is… Then, I often find myself curious if they notice me as they drive or pass by; if they recognize the mess of my appearance, the ninety pounds with knots in her hair and dressed up in old torn flannels. As they pass by do they wonder what it is like to walk through my life? Does it cross their minds as to what it must be like to find themselves immersed in a cement-pedaling rat race and stuck chasing an artificial feeling, or a way to escape a self-inflicted reality? Are they gazing back at me with the same curiousity I am watching them with or am I invisible to their daily routine? I know I have crossed paths with many others, and have plenty of experiences stored in my mind to help create who I am now yet, I can not put to words how the thought of a stranger’s existence puzzles and impacts me. Their acquantances and experiences, their purpose and their strive, all of their memories and array of lessons learned. It is similar to when you are gazing at the night sky and you truely feel how small your being is, how powerless you are. You experience some sort of awe or wonderment in its complexity, maybe it is a sliver of helplessness that you have a difficult time describing in words. But, you feel it. For a moment you feel some sort of connection as an observer, a witness, forgetting you are still incorporated in the very moment you are complexed over. This is how the society around me, the strangers in my view, tend to make me feel.

Parallel Travels

originally written 9.23.17 @ 2pm

Everything occuring for a reason, determinism, can be a difficult concept to grasp. It can also be an easy one to understand and believe. The small moments do not appear to be of importance until you indulge in nostalgia. In hindsight, every little moment and the exact timing that has to take place has brought me to where I am today. Every step another being has to take in order to cross paths with me and make an impact on my life, and vise versa, can not be of coincidence. It also makes me wonder who I impact with out my knowledge. On occasion, a song will play and someone who has crossed my path in the distant past stumbles through my mind. I reminisce about the individual and wonder where they are in the present moment, how they may be feeling. It causes me to wonder who may be thinking of me – what moment shared is someone briefly stuck on? Is there someone out there thinking of me, someone who’s name and existence I do not even know of? I wish there was a way of acknowledging when I am in someone’s thoughts and how they percieve me, out of curiousity. Curious as to how I may have influenced another being, how my existence served a purpose in their path and to get them to where they are today. Who, where and why? Personally, I can look back and think of strangers who have impacted the timing and reasoning to every moment in my life – instilled in order to impact the following moment. Minute to minute, moment to moment, it all becomes relevant and of significance. Just being is of purpose.

White Knuckles

originally written 9.30.17 @ 2:30am

“Never have I dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul.”

Fear is healthy when harnessed correctly. It creates the sensations of flight or fight that is necessary for survival. Most people act out of fear, whether it be to fight and move towards it or to fool themselves into contentment in fear of moving forward and towards change. In hindsight I believe I have often embraced fear, enjoyed the adrenaline. Yet, flight took place when fight should have occured. I enjoyed the wrong forms of fear and danger. When it comes down to fearing what may be with in myself, I flee. Fearing my atmosphere and surroundings, moments out of my control, I throw my fists up and feed off of it. Now, in a sober mindset, I fear my insecurities and emotions. I am finding them difficult to embrace. Throw me a challenge my way or a cap to my potential and I will thrive off conquering the fear of failure. For example, do not tell me a female should not fish alone in the early, dark hours; nor commercially recycle metal or cut grass…. And of course there was the adrenaline related to the fear of living each day in active addiction. The chaos gave me a sense of purpose that distracted me from the reality of self. What I desire now is to find a way to harness the fear I have of my internal being and to conquer it. I no longer want to flee from my self. I have come to realize that the most important people and things in my life have also instilled a form of fear. If a relation does not encompass a hint of dismay than perhaps it is not worth my time or devotion. Thus, I am pleased about the fact that I naturally want to flee from digging into my own self.

Erosion Never Fades

original written 9.22.17 @ 9:15am

My scars are often my greatest battle. They are a reminder of and a strong connection to my recent past. On a difficult day my scars inflict memories of the false euphoria that created them. On an optimistic note, the same self-inflicted scarring reminds me that no matter how hard I attempt to forget – I am an addict. I yearn to leave behind that part of me; leave it back in the crumbling, dilapitated buildings I once resided in. Unfortunately, that piece of me has made its way to the salvage yard… Sitting, rusting, and waiting. Anticipating someone to come along and see its beauty and potential. Someone eager enough to restore it, polish it off and sell it for more than it is worth.

The scars are just that – scars. They are healed wounds, symaltaneously a consistent connection. As they keep me connected to the I that thrives and finds comfort in the shadows, I attempt to ground both feet in the sun light. A constant battle as to which warm sensation is worth more, which warm embrace is more pure. The longer I leave the scars alone the more likely they are to fade. If I utilize them as a bookmark than they will reestablish themselves, becoming much more than simple scars only skin deep. The creases of the dog eared pages will only become more defined. They mark the entry way to a meaningless and painless existence that demands a high price. I believe they will never leave me. Yet, at the end of the day they are just scars, no? All they are is scratches running along the surface. Nothing more, nothing less. They can only tell their story if I enable and relay it.

Motto of a Marauder

originally written 9.17.17 @ 8 pm

Every virtue has an opposing vice to pair up with. A wise man once stated that neither excess nor abstinence renders a man happy. For every virtue I posses I also fall victim to its counterpart. With love, I fall hard into lust, then tend to blur the two and mesh them into one. Eventually, the vice takes over and I conclude there is no such thing as love; only lust, tolerance, and admiration wrapped up with respect. One confusion though, to hold on to a virtue, or even own one, you must practice that desired virtue. Like a craft, to master it you must work at it continuously. Vices are fairly easy and timidly successful to encompass. They also seem more appealing. Why work towards love when you can experience lust and infatuation immediately? Virtues are earned through hard work and callused hands. Vices are seductively more desirable, yearned for and chased after. Patience verse impulse, strength verse slight of hand. Hard work or wishful luck and chance? One chooses to be blind to the greatest distinction between the two – virtues only strengthen, they will never harm one’s being. Vices seem to demand a sacrifice or a price, they eventually fall short and cause a heavy feeling. A feeling of transparency, a loss of gratification. Only then will some turn towards virtue while others will then utilize and exhaust their next vice.

“There’s a freight-liner coming to steal away my mind, and take me to whatever comfort I may find. She said marauder, marauder don’t you be like your father.
Marauder, marauder, don’t you lead a life of crime.
marauder, marauder, please be a better man.
Marauder, marauder, don’t you leave no tracks behind.”  – Jesse Stewart

Steady Your Hand

originally written 9.6.17 @ 7:40 pm

Solipsism: the view or theory that the self is all that can be known to exist.

It is funny how perception is everything. Two people could experience the exact same moment and yet describe two completely different experiences. Happiness has always been a struggle for me and it is just as simple as changing my thought process, how I perceive the world around me. Some believe you just have to smile all the time to eventually wear a sincere smile. But, I smiled the most when at my lowest. I smiled in hopes to fight off the loneliness. In order for my perception of reality to be joyful and beyond content I need to do more than just smile all the time – I need to adjust my thinking and perceive the atmosphere around me without the vices that harm me. Examples of those vices would be self-centered fear, loathing, illogical thinking, etc. I spent years indulging in philosophy – the study of truth. I became so caught up in finding that truth, the Truth, that I never realized there is no one way to view the Truth. Truth will never be able to be relayed through my mind or to another because words warp it. My perception warps it. How I view the Truth is not how someone else sees it. If I can never quite grasp truth, stuck constantly looking through it, than why not harness it to my benefit and create happiness out of my version of truth? This way, no matter where I may find myself I am consistent among the consistency of change. If I demand contentment and happiness from my perceived truth than that is what I will receive. How truth is viewed by a being may change but, Truth ultimately is fixed.

Devil in my Veins

Originally written 8.27.17 @ 4pm

It is easy to back-burn my personal issues and forget about them until eventually they seep back into my mind. They allow my insecurities to arise, they create poisonous thoughts. If addiction is a disease than this is how it attempts to stay in the forefront of my life. I believe it is a sickness, not necessarily a disease, but a sickness created by something inhumane. It is too sinful to be labeled a disease. Its white knuckle grip is too strong and too personal. It is aware that I am gaining my strength back therefore it is not coming at me with blatant cravings and desires. Instead it is using gorilla warfare. Creeping in my mind, tempting me with mental and emotional doubt and poison. Attempting to wear me down from my insides out. It laid off of telling me to go get high, it acknowledged that avenue of destruction was no longer effective. Now, it is using its own form of manipulation by resurfacing the deep rooted issues I struggle with and make an attempt to ignore. Thankfully, I am not eager to cosign and allow the self manipulation to cut into me too deeply. Is it still scratching the surface? Yes. Does it burn and sting? Very much so. I recognize the attempts – flooding my dreaming life with drug use, while consecutively seeping into my waking life with self doubt and fear in the hopes that I will physically sync the two and collapse back into his arms. Of course he would swiftly catch me if I am to trip and fall.

I feel him in the shadows; patient, observant, and sinfully smirking. As it works at running my well dry I feel its smile every time I walk by. It lays dormant, assessing the next best way to break me – self fear, self doubt. At first I believed and was naive enough to feel as though it was truth. “I am not desired.” “Maybe I am not enough.” “Why am I so easily forgotten by others?” “How come they do not see me?” “What is wrong with me?” “Why?” I will not lie, it began to break me and wear me down. The poison began to seep into my core. Then, I woke up. This is exactly what it wants. It wants me to create my own hell, torturing myself with the seed of negativity it planted in me. Using my surroundings to challenge me, bring me to my knees so he can coast out of the shadows disguised as comfort, acceptance, and love.

Today, I refuse to be a coward and allow its manipulation to inspire self harm and abuse. I am not spiteful, nor angry. I am flattered that a power outside of my realm desires me and is not giving up the fight for me – it obviously sees something of value in my soul. That alone is a reminder that I am desired, I am enough. I am a warrior, not a victim. I will pray for the ability to see the value in me that he sees and yearns to be close to. My past and present sins will always keep me close to him – that relationship will always exist and go unbroken. Only, at this time my energy and love is being exerted into a relationship with his opposing, warm, and promising parallel whom I choose to refer to as God.

“The morning’s a cross I bear when I wake
Am I asleep if I’ve broken my faith?
Down on my knees, can you hear me when I pray?
Or am I a little too late?
Count me, count me, call my name
Don’t leave me out in shame
Crimson tears falling and my shirt is blood-stained
And the devil’s forever in my veins”
Yelawolf’s Devil in my Veins