Anatomy of a relapse

I take a walk outside
I’m surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear?
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I’m spinning, oh, I’m spinning
How quick the sun can drop away

And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything.

All the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything.
All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I’ll be.

I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a sun in somebody else’s sky, but why
Why, why can’t it be, why can’t it be mine.

“Black” – Pearl Jam

I am morose, yes. I meticulously planned my suicide. I am tired, so tired. This year, I had thought, will be different. This year, I know where I stand. I have a new outlook. I am sober. This year, I can face it, I can fight the good fight and come out unscathed.

Complacency claims another victim. Shame burns like flamed alcohol on my skin. I am disgusted at myself. I do not want to start from the beginning again. Not sure I can force myself to continue to drag my repugnant demi-corpse through this life. Yet somehow I am unable to follow that meticulous Plan. Impasse. But to curl up and cease to exist… I know how to do that, in spirit.