Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the voice is always there
questioning
decisions.... I can
at times treat myself
like a sadistic jail guard
grinning
through crusted green teeth,
his foul breath too close
for peace of mind, his sick eyes
looking to penetrate steel bars,
his reputation
a jar of stained Eucharists,
but it doesn't happen often
anymore
now that I worship
at the altar of poetic forgiveness
the journal of recovery is thick
as a brick,
the wrestled documentation
tells me
I was here in my own way....
I have fallen many times,
to my knees with only a cheap ballpoint,
a yellow lined pad lying on the floor
face up, and me
laser sharp in all the wrong ways,
the conversation begins with a big bang
theory
the starting gun's smoke lingering
in the primordial air
the push, the pull, the tug-o-war
between how I was instructed
and who I really am

damn the instruction, full speed ahead!

let the words be real. enjoyed reading this, thanx