memories are an imprecise form of time travel

Some days I miss the angst  
of who I used to be  
when the world was wide open  
but I built holes for myself anyway
 
Everything was easy in, hard out  
weed smoke curling like art  
cigarette bowls waiting to catch fire
bad boys with fingers twitching towards violence  
and me, with legs like an open door  
hoping love could be found  
between a drunken fuck  
and the brutal truth of dawn  
 
I miss feeling beautiful  
I miss chasing broken things  
like they held the answers to life  
if I could just psycho-analyse them  
into making sense  
I even miss the way my innocence crumbled  
and how hard I held onto the notion
that everything would be alright  
someday  
 
Hope was always just around the corner  
a glorious tease so full of promises  
like a mirage  
down the middle of your road  
in the burnt midday air of summer  
telling me there's more  
than a hangover and non-consensual  
activities on the horizon  
(though there rarely was)
 
My darkness felt profound  
divine  
euphoric
until it didn't  
and I couldn't drink, smoke  
or fuck away the emptiness  
of the addictions I chased  
 
I remember feeling so alive
in the destruction of myself  
like it was the only way to salvation  
 
I remember feeling so empty  
in the destruction of myself  
I thought I would die  
of alcohol poisoning  
or an overdose  
at the hands of a lover  
or a stranger  
or myself
 
Some days I miss the angst  
of who I used to be  
when the world was wide open  
but I built holes for myself anyway
because back then I knew I was alive
even if I didn't always want to be  
 
These days  
I don't know who I am  
or what I want  
I just know that it hurts
and I wish I had the answers  
a younger me believed I would find  
someday