Itinerent

I am a fallen man.
I am a broken man.
I am a failed man.

Day after day, I sit holed up in my room, in the basement, like some kind of subhuman troglodyte, wracked with panic attacks, depression, fear, trepidation, hesitation, doubt, etc...

Slipping....

...Slipping further....

(If I loved this, then why does it make me sick?)

Drinking to escape the thought of failure. Pride holding me back from trying my hand at anything. Too afraid to move forward. Too petrified to look back.

Stuck in the middle. And sick from the mirror.

(From a smiling drunk to the embarrassing lush)


Hoping that someone else will dig me out of this pit of despair that I've dug for myself. Waiting for something, anything other than me, to get me out of this self-destructive cycle.

And now, I can I only pray that my honesty will goad myself into action. To move past my fear and on into life. To do something, anything.


(This is the time, if it were up to me now.
This is the time, we can rise from the ground.
This is the time, hold onto me now.)

I excel at the mediocre. Even my alcohol consumption/disease is middle of the road - too strong to fully commit to alcoholism, too weak to stop myself from drinking.

(Today is the day that I see myself for what I really am...)

So, I wobble on half broken crutches. Both wanting to give in fully to the anesthetization of drink and to struggle on for the sake of friends, family, and self.

No one ever said that Life sucked this much. That the choices you had to make were so hard. (a poor and pitiful and childish excuse). That you might have to choose between the people you love and the things you want to do. The uncertainty of it all.

(I'm washing it down. Watch me fall.)

And one day you wake and realize that you aren't who you thought you'd be. And you wonder "Was my childhood image of myself naive and unrealistic, and am I just a realist now? Or am I really a disappointment to myself?"

(With a graceful fall did you waste it all?)

And you love others more than you love yourself. And you pour yourself into them, telling yourself, "If I can love someone else enough, I'll be worthwhile."
And you pray you don't succumb to the weakness of your parents, that you don't just give into the daily grind of life. The day-in day-out existence.

(Do I hear you folding up to fear?)

And every day you die a little more inside. Die from your own apathy and inaction. Die from stagnation. Die from fear. Die from hesitation. Die from all the ropes that held you down - whether real or imagined. Died because you made nothing of yourself because you were too afraid to commit to a path. Frightened by the options in front of you, you chose a different path - the path of inaction. The path of burying your head in the fucking sand like a coward. And the spark of your life did not go out like a brilliant blaze...but a fucking smoldering ember sputtering in and out, in and out, in and out of life until finally it sputtered to death.

(We can't say no.
Not anymore.)