I can feel them itching away at my insides.

They want me to take a shot.
They want me to take the relief of a hit.
"Home is where the drink is" they tell me.

Their judgement is laid before me.
They stand as my accusers.
I stand as the accused.

"We'll do it this way" they say.

"No, it ends now, we'll do it my way" I reply.

"We were always doing it your way".

A sound. A voice. Had it been me all along?
Oh no, had I lead myself astray this whole time?

As a carriage follows its horse, so does a mind follow its thoughts.

It's time to get these thoughts in order.

The seconds, the minutes, the hours,
the time inside my mind stretches on.

Self-awareness has got me buggin' out.

I know this game, I know this chore,
I've done this all one million times before,
but sometimes I just don't wanna be me anymore.

Writers block.

A moments silence for the voices inside my head.

Stillness for now.

But the voices will come back, they always do.

"Oh no, he's down here again" said the little ant to the other little ant.

"Why does he come down so low?" responded one of the little ants inquisitively.

"He just gets like that sometimes, that's all" chimed in the caterpillar, who was baking in the sun.

From atop came a wise old butterfly, it took its seat next to the ants and the caterpillar.

"He's looking for answers, he's looking for meaning" said the caterpillar.

"Don't worry it's ok, he'll get there in the end, we all do" replied the butterfly as it took off and soldiered on.

The lessons of life are sharp,
they cut and leave their mark.

If each day is a lesson,
how many lessons until I graduate?

It’s like trying to find your way out
of an invisible cube,
A forcefield of aloneness.
Inside my head - an island of one.

It wan an illusion all along.
There was never any ‘in’ crowd.
You had your dreams bought and
sold from under you.

Clinging – Grasping – Paving my improved path.

This is where I stand, judge me as I am.

An ode to tomorrow in the closing of today.

It’s just the same thing
Day after Day
A cycle of old habits and curse words.
This boy was trying to learn without making mistakes.
Why must he always learn the hard way?
Bad writing he hoped,
would eventually lead to good writing.

A chastisement.
A judgement.

I need to change my ways.

Sober and clear during the day,
awake and blasted
throughout the night.
These cycles of patterns should cease to exist.

This is a love story
between a man and his words.

The mirror of shallow reflection
shows levels of depth and perception.
What’s here today, may not be here
tomorrow.
Who I am today, may not be who I am
tomorrow.

Take me as I am or take me no other way.

Who you see is what you are and
how you see is who you are.
We are the mirror looking within itself,
reflecting itself on its own reflection.
Every piece is a reflection of itself.

Each day is a step forward,
even when moving backwards
we’re still moving forwards.

The memories of the past create
the memories of the future.