I've been drunk now, here, for weeks; Money's almost gone, but still, All I need is one big score -- All it takes is time, and will Money comes in slow, but here Anything can happen, fast: All I need's a bit more luck, Things will break my way At last
There is no feeling so lonely
As being the only one left
Who believes
But I have to believe
That you can come back
That there still is a “you”
To come back
Actions become indolence
Words become lies
Lies become the story
And as to the rest
God only knows what will come
I am tired beyond words
And sick
At heart
There is no feeling so lonely
As being the only one left
Who believes
in disrepair, neglected,
emptied out of much of value,
a part of town where you and i
don’t go
in corners made for sitting,
and in windows stark and glaring,
a couple of chip wrappers and
some blow
in kindergarten, once, there were
some gold stars and a ribbon,
a child disremembered
and abjured
in disrepair, neglected,
emptied out of much of value,
beside a wall where nothing is
assured
except that minutes
have to be
endured
The wheel is spinning, spinning once again;
And there you stand among the sons of men,
Fluorescent in the ardor you display;
An equal mix of predator and prey —
You take by gambling what you cannot steal;
As spinning, once again, you try
To feel
She knows where she has been, and doesn’t think
That she could never end up there again;
You wouldn’t spot her for an addict, but
She knows the danger never goes away
She loved a boy, but that was long ago.
She lied to him when things were at their worst;
It took some months in rehab, and more time,
But he still wanted, loved her, anyway
For love’s a kind addiction at its best,
The kind that wants us as we truly are;
They found their love again, and it’s been good,
But she must careful tread to keep her feet
Not everyone a second chance is given:
But she is taking hers
And choosing
Joy
(Note: I have not been paid by the American Psychiatric Association to post these thoughts, although I have used their doctors from time-to-time. – Owen)
.
Sex addiction’s not a thing.
So, that’s been decided;
And its not-thingness will remain
So long as, and provided,
That someone different’s not in charge
There at the APA.
Someone who might think differently
Who then will have the say
As what goes into DSM.
That defines with precision
How sex is not addictive
Until some future
Decision
Mentioning the Motel Shadow
Briefly brings a passing pang;
For her tortured teenage lover
In the days rebellion rang
All about her and within her
When defiance, fierce and free
Drove her daily to destruction
Motel Shadow’s canopy
While the former flame had flickered
She her sheltered shyness shed;
He had dithered to addiction
Foremost his fixation fed
Mentioning the Motel Shadow
Was demolished yesterday;
Sudden sorrow in her visage
Just as quickly
Went away
