“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” – The Wizard of Oz

Everyday, I chase tomorrow away with a stick, and I will probably keep doing so until it stops coming around. Are these choices my own? Maybe I am genetically conditioned to drink instead of dream. Yes, maybe it is my own DNA that has betrayed me. Then again, maybe I just fell in love with sadness and this is the price. Well, whatever it is, I am at its mercy. I used to be a good person. I used to have ideals. My heart used to do more than simply pump blood to my organs. Now all of that is gone and I can’t even cry because my tear ducts are filled only with dust. I look into the face of the truth with my head down because I already know the verdict. I am just a shell now.

The days when you and I walked hand in hand always keep me looking back, and in the darkness of my bedroom, I drift away inside the past. For your spirit calls on me and haunts my soul until I drink it down and end up someplace where my crippled heart can no longer be found, and though prescription pills and alcohol won’t bring me piece of mind, their anesthetic qualities make emptiness seem more benign.