Writing

I’ve become addicted to this new drug.

It’s made up of words and sometimes makes perfect sense without making sense at all.

I can’t tell if it gives me life or if I need it to stay alive.

Well, that, and Klonopin, and Lexapro, and Wellbutrin.

I’m addicted to writing just like I’m addicted to breathing and feeling ok enough to get out of bed in the morning.

To feel trapped for so long and then to finally feel free,

to be so controlled and then to lose all self control.

It’s all a part of finding the balance,

though life doesn’t seem to be particularly balanced.

To love too much, to write too much, to fuck too much, to get too high, to be too honest-Is there such a thing?

I’m giving it all away like a good mother gives unconditional love to her child.

I’m giving away every last breath with the help of these drugs,

these drugs that take me to the deepest part of my brain and then run on to this paper.

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