A piano is playing, it dared me to write

The song is “to those who are leaving” and I may tonight.

Despite golden years, I have come to a sorrowful resignation. I have lost a great deal of my self, yet only in my mind.

I have explored the possibilities of religion, and seemingly, my willpower has faltered.

Somehow, as I felt I drifted closer to god; I lost my protection. My ability to resist temptation, my discipline; it is obvious, this is the fault of my own. I am my own enemy, over privileged to have such a claim. 

Yet here I sit, unemployed, and whilst my addiction knows no withdrawals, knows no therapists, nor rehab facility. I sit alone. Of my own volition; questioning why I am isolated?

Yet I have lost my ability to stand, but maintained my ability to run. 

Yet I have lost my ability to scream, I may still to cry. 


The dark has grown into winter, for the first time I truly feel I am without a light; so I will cling to my candle; even though it holds no flame.

When I emerged from my hell I carved out a path; and at its peak; I stabbed my own back, there was no enemy, no tragedy, just me and my addiction. 

I feel like a duck on a storming sea, not where it’s supposed to be, hardly afloat, yet to tired to fly.

If I give up now, I will be nothing, of this I am sure

If I fight now, I can reignite my dreams; but these words are not my own, not of my mind, just my heart poised through my finger tips to this page. 

I am a poet no longer, I have shared no stories, I have played no music, my last gasp of creativity laying scattered on the dance floor. 

I mean to throw no pity party, nor choir of caution.

A piano is playing, and it dared me to write; so this; is what’s on my mind.
 

A piano is playing, it dared me to write 

The song is “to those who are leaving” and I may tonight. 

Despite golden years, I have come to a sorrowful resignation. I have lost a great deal of my self, yet only in my mind. 
 
I have explored the possibilities of religion, and seemingly, my willpower has faltered. 

Somehow, as I felt I drifted closer to god; I lost my protection. My ability to resist temptation, my discipline; it is obvious, this is the fault of my own. I am my own enemy, over privileged to have such a claim. 

Yet here I sit, unemployed, and whilst my addiction knows no withdrawals, knows no therapists, nor rehab facility. I sit alone. Of my own volition; questioning why I am isolated? 

Yet I have lost my ability to stand, but maintained my ability to run. 
 
Yet I have lost my ability to scream, I may still to cry. 
 

The dark has grown into winter, for the first time I truly feel I am without a light; so I will cling to my candle; even though it holds no flame. 

When I emerged from my hell I carved out a path; and at its peak; I stabbed my own back, there was no enemy, no tragedy, just me and my addiction. 

I feel like a duck on a storming sea, not where it’s supposed to be, hardly afloat, yet to tired to fly. 

If I give up now, I will be nothing, of this I am sure 

If I fight now, I can reignite my dreams; but these words are not my own, not of my mind, just my heart poised through my finger tips to this page. 

I am a poet no longer, I have shared no stories, I have played no music, my last gasp of creativity laying scattered on the dance floor. 

I mean to throw no pity party, nor choir of caution. 

A piano is playing, and it dared me to write; so this; is what’s on my mind. 
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