Clearing the Catacombs

This is for the (insert adjective like wonderful, brilliant, awesome, whichever you prefer) L.c.'s challenge from a few months ago. I've sat on this for a while because I thought I could be arsed making a beat or some sorta post punk discordant dissonance to go alongside it. But time marches on so here it is. Without a backing track. Just ole arsehole.

Press play on link below and hate it or love it become obsessed with it or throw it away.

It took me years and years and years to realise the wonder and the majesty for wordplay and storytelling that hid inside of me—locked away and suppressed as I found new lows to reach in a world that drew me in with quick and direct hits of imposter-syndrome-freeing, ego-boosting attention from unseen faces, names on screens, and performers playing out in their raw and unfiltered den of iniquity.

I have kindness, I have love, I have generosity, I have love—but it got squandered, beaten, discarded, and soiled.

Trouble follows or finds me, or more aptly, I find and follow trouble to my own detriment. Even if it's pleasant for a while, it all comes undone, unstuck, unglued, and then I'm down again in the mire, struggling to stay above the surface of unhelpful and frankly desolate darkness.

Chorus

Still I got myself here, and I'll get myself out again,

only to hope and pray and try and fight against the demons in my head.

And maybe, just maybe, addiction will leave me.

Maybe addiction will leave me

Maybe addiction will leave me 

Maybe just maybe 

I write as much as I can to clear the catacombs and isolation chambers inside my head, where all the good is raised up with the bad, and I wonder why the bad chokes out the good. I mean, damn it, I've done it again, but I keep writing and sharing my shame, facing the ugliness inside of me and others.

Chorus

Still I got myself here, and I'll get myself out again,

only to hope and pray and try and fight against the demons in my head.

And maybe, just maybe, addiction will leave me.

Maybe

Just

Maybe maybe addiction will leave me 

I push ahead and challenge expectations. Form and structure mean nothing sacred to me when I ruminate and procreate art

Stand aside, the Bards of old, the storytellers, the scholars! I spit and piss, shit and bleed on the graves—the ones they're in or the ones waiting for them. Those who walked before I ran, the trailblazers we threw away in remembrance of what was and shouldn't be again. Those who fucking dashed with emphasis on the passé halls of dignitaries, as the laughing gas mushroom cloud mustard stains on their parchment fucks history in the ass.

Lofty their status or dusty their descent towards the crust.

Not quite the greatest, but I feel the greatest when pen hits paper, finger hits screen.

Chorus

Still I got myself here, and I'll get myself out again,

only to hope and pray and try and fight against the demons in my head.

And maybe, just maybe, addiction will leave me.

Maybe addiction will leave me

Maybe addiction will leave me 

Maybe just maybe 

But it festers. Yes, it lays in wait for my weakness to show it a pathway to the surface, and I try and I try and I try and I try and I fight, and sometimes I win and succeed. But not for long, when it weighs me down and I look for a cheap reason to give up, tune in and drop out with smut and my faux dopaminial hits.

*

Thanks for reading! 

Sorry if I've published a lot recently. Just trying to clear stuff from my keep notes WIP.

Here is the link to L.C."s challenge