Inebriating, sot seeks sips of sole inadequacy,

and in time having aborted the mission,

comes to the end of this revelry,

tries to understand the reasons why,

looks into his own eyes for once,

agitated at the ruin this debate has rendered,

found that he could not find surrender within,

loves another more and maybe enough,

but knows that this can only be done for self,

through self and a way to good health,

adds and subtracts; dreaming of numbers/quantities,

integrates to see the sum whole of this deference,

this silent gap between what he is and what could he be,

grandeur of a promise withheld,

in words that were tenderly tendered,

in the face of lies spewed about,

wanton and farcical though they may have been,

gives a moment to recollection,

I remember me before all of this came to be,

I wasn’t better,

wasn’t whole,

had never been known,

and now I peer into this silver polished oblong stairway,

this glaziers prize,

I see my eyes,

the chasm of sadness that belongs only to me,

that which I gifted myself,

beg the question, “Why would you do this to us?”

body, mind and soul,

constantly quenched,

because you have drenched,

and deeper entrenched,

your self in this muck and brew,

but who loves you?

certainly not that man your keeper,

whose hands you hold outstretched,

because he is somewhat deranged,

slightly self estranged,

it’s about the time you changed,

and wakening that light within,

go into the day to blot the sun,

to quench it’s heat with something hotter,

to voyage on the Jolly Roger,

and leave Neverland,

and then never land.


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