misery junky

I regret not dying in the battle of the old days
where drugs opened doors and people used sex as currency
back then we were all losers, and we all knew we were only as good
as whatever it was we had to offer

it wasn’t glamorous or beautiful
and I remember thinking I was only pretty when I was stoned

sometimes we got lost in the delusions of power
and violence was nothing more than a show
of who could take a bigger hit

we were all running from something too dark to name
I was a misery junkie looking for utopia
never realizing it couldn’t be found in a well of x amount of drinks
because it was never possible to stay 24/7 drunk

God never had the answers, no matter how hard I prayed
and church halls still make me want to slit my wrists
in protest to the self-righteous Jesus junkies
I’d love to lay down and die before them
while they pray for my soul
and I tell them all that they’re wasting their time

it was never easy being drunk
and it’s not easy being sober
the coward in me leaning down to take a sip
of the poison that kills me best
full of delusion and completely without mercy
where I might steal a car and wrap it around a tree
just like my drunken suicidal dreams once dictated

I regret not dying in the battle of the old days
because at least that death would have been quick
unlike the lingering sickness of my mind

hope is not a four letter word

© 2012