Upstairs in your room, where I watched you clean your spoon; that needle in your arm was a knife in my heart that got twisted a little harder every time you pushed it farther until it pushed me far enough that I could turn and walk away. And now today. A decade and 90 miles away from the choice you made between me and your fascination with a fix. Too many years and an ocean of tears away from the lesson that I couldn’t heal you with a kiss. The words that I told you then; “It’s over. You can call me when you’re sober.” And just walking away bled my tears. And days lead to months became years. I let go of the hope that I’d hear “I’m clean”. And I let my white-knight-knuckled fingers let loose my home-coming beauty queen. The only ever woman for me. Edged out to the periphery, of you I wouldn’t speak. Just a slow leak from my bleeding heart tucked beneath one sleeve. And then-came those words-over facebook–absurd! But I heard your voice in every key: “Kila, I’m finally clean”. And my heart strong sung out in joy! You had finally made the right choice. And with open arms and trepidus heart, I hopefully let you back in. But this time, only as friends. Kept an arms breadth of distance at length. Prayed to the hope of your strength. To keep the needle at bay, and keep our friendship this way, and mended, that way it did stay… That is, until early today. And that familiar old choice now is facing me. And I’m pacing my heart speeding racingly. And I’m cursing those demons you have raised in me. And I question my strength; is there space in me? To be some kind of heroine, and fight against your Heroin. Can I bear with it? Can I carry it? Have my arms and my heart grown in size? Yet again I have let you inside… And I find, to surprise, that the scars from your knife-cold needle-have left me quite tough. And that strengthening just might be enough. To carry us both, over fiery coals, to the side where it’s you that you love.
You know me, gotta dip a toe before I can wet my feet. Tap a finger before I follow the beat, I’ve got half of a rhythm in a faltering speech. But I speed myself up when I follow the sound and it brings the lights up as I follow it down the rabbit hole to a place in my mind where the product of soul-searching is sure to provide some definition to the shapes in the mirror, The image stays the same but the message gets clearer. And I fear I can’t raise voice loud enough to project the feeling of these words that haven’t left yet. And I left it on a note that was sour in tone, But don’t go picking bones because you’re sure not alone. In this world, I’ve offended a few, When I was young I was cruel, but I’ve amended my view. And I see matters now that are close to my heart-like all these people putting walls up to hide from the hurt when in truth putting a hand out for a hug would do more But instead they’re holding cold off and hold out for a cure for this condition, this feeling called life. Where the shit you have to sift through isn’t treating you right and the only right to make of it is the right that you do, and there’s no cricket on your shoulder, so it all falls to you And the pressure get the best-you’re falling out of your line, But sometimes boxes aren’t there to provide, but confine the truth from your eyes. So break the barrier and be a carrier of good news. You choose. If it’s all gray today, paint a different view. Just breath and be a peace with you. Cause we all trip up and make track of mistakes, and track shit through our lives and pave through our “big breaks”. But when you break it all down, that’s the chance that you take; Life is all chance, and we all make mistakes.
I don’t know what they told you, you can’t hide from yourself-it’s everyone else, that you can tell lies to. And I don’t really suppose you, have even thought this through, You just call it code blue, and then you do your damn-well best to follow through. Emergency protocol. Is that all? You have to show for judgment’s fall (and folly)? A badge on chest and duty’s call, revolves the door and sends you out to shout that you know what this world’s about. When you’ve only ever seen a teensy piece of it. The places that you’ve been could literally fit inside the edges of a thin dime laid flat against a State map. And you snap and react like I’ve burned you, like I didn’t just turn to my fellow man and say “Could ya lend a hand, see I got this plan, to help some others out”. That’s what this world’s about! No man is an Island. And I would rather take the high land and stand my ground, than to be tried and found… Guilty for lack of milk of human kindness. And it’s times like this that remind us that love and hope are timeless, and it’s the hope of love that keeps this world tied together. Whether you are rich or poor, you’re human and nothing more and nothing less than a miracle. And I peer at the world from over the rims of my rose tinted glasses, and the question I feel the need to ask is “Are you happy with yourself?”.