Thunder and lightning.
There would be no real way of knowing then,
That simple weather patterns would later describe my lethal presence.
Mix them together,
And you’ll create a storm that would soon ravage all in its line of vision.
Up in smoke.
Just when I thought I had conquered it all,
When things couldn’t get any worse,
Trouble in paradise.
The question remains.
Did paradise ever exist?
Maybe at one point, but not now.
I had fallen into a deep despair of total depression.
I had dreams of swimming in a darkened sea—
Filled with black ink.
Who was I kidding though?
It was more like a nightmare.
Waves crashing and burning around me,
I was stuck.
As the hurricane began to pick up its pace,
I realized I was suffocating,
To achieve what was supposed to be the calm
Before the storm.
This calm was actually the eye,
In the center of a raging hurricane
That lured me in.
Moving west down the coast,
The wind begins to destroy all within its path.
But I liked the storm.
And so, as the rain falls from the sky,
Its droplets come crashing down,
With nothing to stop them, but the black filing of the pavement.
Nothing could halt this harsh reality called my life.
I’m at rock bottom, officially—
This notion struck like a chain of explosives.
I had no idea that I was slowing committing suicide.
Jails, institutions, death.
The rain fell so far,
The wind moved so fast,
The idea of facing another day simply terrified me.
The dread of withdrawal simply destroyed me.
The only thing that kept me going this far was a faint,
Flickering inner spark of hope.
That somehow, someday there would be a way out.
I knew I desperately needed to change,
I just couldn’t figure out how.
The spark was fading fast.
I had to act.
I wish I was anything but this.
I wish I was anywhere but here,
Yet here I am,
And here I will stay.
I have no other choice, but to believe.
Everything else failed.
I did this to myself.
So I have to at least try.
If I put half the effort into my recovery as I did with using drugs,
I’d be whole.
They say your secrets keep you sick.
Keep it simple, stupid.
But addiction is not that easy.
You want to say no.
You want to say yes.
You want it all.
You want nothing.
So you chase the dragon instead.
How do I stop the bad from taking over again?
How do I end this deadly obsession?
My craving for the next high.
I look up for some answers.
And so, I pray.
I ask God to remove these fixations;
Even though the urge of sanity seems lost,
I’m finding my way back;
Lost and now found.
I’m starting to feel free.
You can too,
Just keep going.
Don’t forget to ask for help.
Lost and now found.
2 thoughts on “The Little Black Book of Poems: The Storm”
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thank you! means a lot 🖤🖤