We all have scar tissue,
In some form or another.
But one has to admit,
It adds character.

Once you realize that your worship is blasphemous,
You'll realize where you're heading,
And know how alone you really
Are.

Nothing is infinite.
Nothing is safe.
Nothing is certain.

Perhaps that is what is maddening this world,
Or is it?
Above the surface,
Things seem calm,
Serene,
Peaceful,
And even good.
Then you go below,
And it is everything you pretend you're not.
It is everything that

Quells sanity.
If the world turns mad,
So be it.

There is no need for sanity.
There is no need for closure.
There is no need for awareness.

Even when you are without anything,
You claim happiness.
You continue to manipulate even through slurs,
Because the way I was,
With all my grace and willingness was never enough.

Sitting in the dark, with a glass in hand
There is evidence;
You've become a recluse
With had a series of tawdry loves.
I wish you luck, but get out
Of my bed.

I hear,
But do not understand.
I see,
But cannot recall.
I feel,
But then forget.

Because, there is no such thing as being sober
When you are alone.