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 could 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