Insecurity is a parasite that devours my best intentions,
Anxiety robs me daily of my ambitions,
Every morning I put my heart on my sleeve
And a coffin filled with pain on my back.
Between catastrophes that define me,
I can almost find time to breathe.
Most of my life has been squandered,
Trying to get far away from myself
While sobriety and heartache clung to me like my shadow.
For years I was a pugilist; cracked knuckles and bruises.
I honed my skills, drunken-boxing with demons in the dark.
Addicted to sorrow, seeing only evil in the world around me.
There was the struggle to simply get up,
Living took so much effort, and gave so little back.
Now I’m older and my body hurts more than ever,
But the wounds in my soul have closed up and scarred over.
Parts of me that will never be the same, dead and lost.
At least there is comfort in this.
Moving past pain despite the continuing cruelty
That life serves us all to some degree.
The madness, the flame within me, still burns its true.
I have walked through the fire for so many years,
That my feet long for cinders even in the coolness of the leaves.
I was there and now I’m here,
And much has changed but more is still the same,
Perhaps its not too late to find myself,
If I only knew the way.