Give me back the good ole’ days, when I didn’t know I had been a dick, before my eyes got opened wide when I didn’t know I was supposed to think that I was slick. ’cause now there’s nowhere left to run, the drugs aren’t making new connections, copper wire all stripped bare and caked in black, who knew that feeling guilty wouldn’t be so fun. When disassociation was best friend, wide-eyed ignorance was true enough shame comes boiling on like napalm from the surface of a once forgiving sun. So self-important in critique that I’m burying the good parts inside the shit convinced that its still black and white and regardless of the truth, I deserve to be punished. for the right, the wrong, the sick, that stupid mindless babble even my well-intentioned songs. Keep it all so serious now, that panic seems always at the door, instead of basking in the freedom from that monster inside that damaged so much the world. Enjoy the chance to roll again, spin through ridiculously insane normalcy, let feet hit a brand new road and leave behind insecurities, all fallacies–
I know a man who threw away 10g of meth. Down a toilet. Intentionally, during a moment of lucidity. He woke up from his dream. He didn’t do it for the posturing or the bragging, he did it because he had a fucking moment and things added up.
He saw his future was his past and all that was going to come again. The regrets. The broken relationships. The self-hatred. The loneliness and the pain. The body count and the desperation. The stagnation. The missed joy and thrill of life. The empty smile and the personal failings. The prayer for death unanswered.
It hit that water in the toilet and didn’t even stain the water with some indication of all the soil and grime that its brand had left over the years. All the marks on his morals. His appreciation of life. His awareness and understanding of the world and himself. His inability to connect and always be “other” – not in a way he was proud of, but in a way that left him sullied and greasy where it would always be felt most.
He wasn’t going to revisit and replay what had come before. He was learning gratitude for all the experiences, painful or pleasant, and that meant realizing that the pain had only needed to happen once. He didn’t need to put his hand back into the fire like always. it was still fucking hot and he was worth more than scorched flesh. He wanted to, could, and will become more. He’ll evolve, be seen in the mirror as true to himself, a good friend, an honest and genuine man, and as a survivor not an unchanging Peter Pan chemical fiend. Wreckage for decades as his only gift to the world, a Lost Boy playing pirate to his own loot.
He had learned, was learning, would continue to learn. He would grow.
I know a man that threw away 10g of meth. Finally took a dive and emptied a bag, got back on the horse, and welcomed in a change for once.