To be 
on a constant high 
is to be. 
To escape 
the enemy within, 
to see beauty.

To be tangled up
in the prickly edges 
between life and death. 
 
For to be is not to be.

An addiction
in small doses, 
plummeting downhill. 
 
A conflicting rise to the heavens.

Camping on death’s tent 
to gaze upon life.

Every sip feels like the bridge to another life, a dive into the infinite. 
Moments in slow motion, 
scenes of your life playing in your head.

Memories so distant to hold. 
Faces too blurry to touch.

Fighting the inevitable, 
shielding your eyes from seeing 
the darkness you created.

The darkness you live in..

You wish it weren’t too familiar, 
that you could get lost in it, 
that there’d be a need to search, 
to look for a way out, 
crack a window open, 
be freed, breathe.

Fall into grassy fields where sunlight pours softly through trees, 
where fruits ripen tenderly and fall in plenty.

Instead you rolled out a blanket, 
brewed a fresh pot of coffee, 
and whispered deep secrets 
to the enemy.

Now here you are 
cozying up to a dark cold 
like you’re not made 
of flesh and bones.

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