Spun

I drag my aching body from the sofa
And listen to the chiming of fifteen empties
The sun is rising, but there has been no rest for the wicked
And even when my head hits the pillow
My dreams will deny my peace

The cellophane crinkles in my pocket with each step
A reminder of my sweet fixation
As I take stock of my surroundings and thoughts
I inhale deeply and close my eyes
As I realize how tightly spun I've let myself become

The ache behind my eyes, and in my bones
The face in the mirror that I don't recognize
I start drawing parallels and I see the lines
Between myself and the chemically challenged
Growing more and more thin every day

The "empties" are simply Coca-Cola cans, nothing more
The cellophane, all that remains of a butterscotch candy
My only indulgence is the over priced but beautiful paper
That I scrawl my nightmares upon
I am thoughtless in the consumption of all of the above

My exhaustion is the product of my only true demon
The ache in my chest that haunts my dreams and thoughts
The pasty skin; the dim, shadow darkened eyes
All the product of too much wishing for death
And not enough praying for life

I am a spun-out junkie of my body's own design
The only chemicals surging in my veins are
The products of another cheerful dose from the MD
None of my choosing or desire
None a stronghold on my logic or reason

The only fix I've ever sought
Is that of my lover's embrace
I don't even indulge in nightcaps or the occasional fag
I strive to be whole, clean, complete in my own being
I fight with all I have to be as well as I can be

And yet I am no better, no more whole or pleased
No happier or free
Than an addict of any kind
My sorrow holds me tighter than cocaine or morphine
Ever could

I drown more times in my minds twisted design
Than I ever could in any bottle
The thoughts strangle and choke the life out of me
Stealing my breath in a way
That smoke and cancer could only dream of

My own soul seeks to damn
Itself
And I am it's meager prey
Helpless against the towering, soaring peeks
Of the tainted Emerald city of my mind

I would scream if I could
I would cry if the tears would come
I would fall down, beg, plead, and throw away my pride
I would be detoxified and rehabilitated
If any of those things could help the likes of me

The pills are worthless for me
They twist me, make me something worse
Something more depraved
Less considerate, less appreciative
Of how my pain reaches out to strangle others

Therapy can not cure the body's natural madness
No amount of talking can ever take away the impulses
That my body fires quicker than lazers in an attempt
To overthrow my own will
To be better than I am today

No one else can save me
No matter how badly I wish to be saved
This is a war I must fight alone
And I will die one of two ways:
Still fighting or committing unconditional surrender.