Self-Inflicted Momentum

/Tipped forward by my own volition,

by my own trajectory,

towards the wall,

that brick wall,

as my world collapses

and I can't blame anyone

~

thought I had the reason

~

I was once stable

feet on the ground,

holding my own

against the tide,

but as the tide came in

harder than before

and the weight of the water,

the water of loss—grief and sadness

pushed against my sodden t-shirt and shorts,

I felt the push over,

and couldn't resist,

instead I gave in,

weak and wretched—as I am,

weak and woeful—as I am.

Selfish and weak—

selflessness dissipated—to nothingness,

so to speak.

I reached for honour

and cut my hand—

on disreputation.

~

thought I suck my blood again

~

anyone-Stolen moments from cursed validation,

by my own depravity,

the drop,

the sheer drop,

as the wall caves in

and I can't—no can't—blame anyone

~

I fought to cleanse—I fought to cleanse

~

Before the drop—before the edge,

we...—that is to say—I,

was only aware of one thing.

Standing.

Proud—and—unwavered.

Death won't impact.

Death of a man I've not seen for 20+ years won't impact me.

Won't leave me scarred—and—broken

and exposed to the sword held aloft my head.

The sword of Damocles o—

r the Devil's tap-tap-rap-rap on my shoulder or my window.

Beckoning me

to indulge—gorge

my selfishness.

~

fought to suck my power—sap my will

~

anyone-I've been here before—though it's not that funny

deja-vu,

it's very real,

not Jamais vu,

just real—and—I'm afraid,

afraid I've lost—myself again.

~

I fought to cleanse—to cleanse it all,

~

Once I'm there—I'm gone and lost,

a part of me given to my animal,

my bestial drives—and—desires

for just anything—but—reality,

anything but the cold—and—the dark,

the tangibility of a dead body

lying forever comatose in a state of decay

beneath the ground in a cemetery in Glasgow.

No closure,

no easy tying

of loose ends—knots.

No nothing helpful.

~

I fought to suck my life again

~

again-Sought out as I did—escapism,

deliberately forgoing

my better judgment,

my conscience seared—and—torn,

forsaken on the side of the sofa

~

I fought the reason—thought

~

There is no sorry great enough,

there is no magical words powerful enough.

I can but hope that time and hard work,

and effort can forge my path ahead

as the world rebalances

and I reach—grab

with need—want

and passion

for redemption.

~

I knew the cleansing to own me for your own life—but—not for the best

I thought I fought the reason—the reason to cleanse

~

*

Thanks for reading!