I Know Dark Places
I know Dark Places.
I’ve been there.
And back,
and there,
and back, again
An Addict’s Tale,
self-harm,
wrists, & arms that
I just wanted
around me.
A glimmer of hope,
that sometimes
I would find
like a bad joke.
I would drop
the mic
that I should have
picked up
and used,
to broadcast an S.O.S.
I’m just,
Fourteen.
And it was only
the beginning.
Back. Again.
Safety scissors,
and jelly bands
punk hair
and the smell
of Au de Poser
wafting in the air.
Trying to fit in,
when I wanted
to belong;
but you can’t.
Belong,
when you’re just
pretending
to know the words
to the songs,
that actually do
speak to
the pain
that you just
don’t
quite
understand.
How could you,
possibly,
tell anyone
how you really feel?
Thinking,
tou’ll never heal,
or escape,
these Dark Places.
I know.
Back again.
A lifetime
later.
Did I ever, really
leave, or just
change the scene?
That’s what we do,
see?
When we don’t want to
face the music
we’ve been making,
the art we’ve been
creating;
Applause. A+.
But what does it
mean?
And is it
even art?
And how
will it
feed you?
And did you
pay the Bursar?
rr your tab,
at the bar?
Do you even
have a car?
And what’s happening
to all of the people
you left behind,
at home?
Do they feel alone?
Like you.
Gasping for air,
as another panic attack
settles,
into your being.
Am I even
good at this?
What now?
I’m here.
Complete, but
not really.
And truly,
only,
just at the
beginning.
Back again.
In dark places…
Like corners,
of bars, and
drunk,
behind,
the wheel of a car,
hiding,
under the covers,
and wishing,
on shooting stars,
that I could
call my Mother,
but oh,
would she mind,
not this time,
not yet,
perhaps,
instead,
a game of
drug roulette?
Another shot,
another round,
the taste of
cross-faded
in the grass of the lawn,
and dancing,
until dawn,
dizzy,
on this carousel,
for ten more
years,
drowning in
fear,
trying to get
“THERE”
but back here,
again,
and again,
These Dark Places.
A void
you only wish
you could
patch up
with drugs,
and Bacardi,
weed and greed,
sex and violence,
bars and parties.
And food.
And sleep.
But you can’t
just
fit a wine cork
In a beer bottle
or use bandaids,
and bong rips,
to fill
your Soul.
Lost, now,
in time and space,
but never really,
gone.
Just,
lost.
In Dark Places.
