living under a borrowed sun

 

our time here is measured and
our days spent under a
borrowed
sun

too many drugs in
my past

too little love in the
my present

nothing seems destined
but the end of this old
dirt road I've been on

say what you want about rain, roses
and happy-fucking-foreverafters

the knife is dull

the day overcast

the moon is out on a coffee break taking
a piss

if you think it's some kind of Goddamn Christmas parade being clean and sober for forty plus
years

and that bells will ring and brilliant, brightly embossed colourful cards will be sent out to celebrate
your recovery

or that anyone else
will even give a
shit

guess
again

it's one fucking
murderous
day at a
time

that's
what
God
gives
you

and I'm grateful for everyone
of those
days