It’s hard to say with certainty

exactly what is wrong with me;

but I’m good and fucked up, mentally

in the face of my shining “recovery”;

how odd then, might I turn out to be

in the end, I still search desperately;

a semblance – a remnant, of familiarity

a piece of some peaceful memory;

it’s hard to spell out with clarity

the twisted dynamics to my personality;

the facets cut into who is left of me

the pain of the guilt chained to my feet;

the burn of the fires blazing ever wildly

a pathetic poster-child of subjectivity;

lived too close alongside of sheer depravity

to boast an escape that’s found true liberty;

as the days pass me by only to bring

as many nights by which I find captivity;

I am a hostage now to a new kind of Barbary

an evolving weakness that is just as crippling;

stripped of anyone who ever stood for anything

left alone to stumble through the oceans of debris.

7 thoughts on “Weakling.

  1. Reblogged this on georgeforfun and commented:

    When I search for words to describe you, my dear Friend, “weak” in any form never comes up. Survival and weakness, weakling or weaker sex don’t work together. You are a survivor and deserve to have peace and tranquility, not more fighting or defending yourself.

    Great write incase it’s not clear!

  3. Simon says:

    It’s hard to say what’s wrong with any of us. All that matters is finding people around you whose demons work well with yours. Always in my thoughts xo