Pleasure Of Pain – An addict’s suffering

“Addictions that plague our friends, family, and neighbors bring pain, both for the user and those who try in vain to love them in spite of the torturous twists and turns of their habit. To the addict: There are no easy answers, don’t stop trying, get back up and keep on fighting.” – Healey’s First Law Of Holes: When in one, stop digging. ― Denis Healey

elements4health

Alone again in a cheap hotel room
The small TV flickering
The nasty images tempting
Putting my fate in the Pleasure of Pain

Been everywhere, feeling nothing
Trying to recover, going nowhere
On the sticky carpet falling
Putting my fate in the Pleasure of Pain

Fears from everywhere I hear
Muffled screams from the room next door
The dirty mirror reflecting
Putting my fate in the Pleasure of Pain

It’s all gone, money is low
One more call, one more go
The old a/c is struggling
Putting my fate in the Pleasure of Pain

Collapse, need to get out
Twist and turn from the pain
The phone light is blinking
Putting my fate in the Pleasure of Pain

Sounds exploding out of silence
Flinching in paranoid terror
So lonely, no one’s coming
Putting my fate in the Pleasure of Pain

This is fun? (no!) This is exciting? (tears fall)
This is what I live for? (deep sigh)
My future’s a pay by week hotel room (God…help me)
Putting my fate in the Pleasure of Pain

12152010

The Sound of Sirens

 “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe
heatherwanderer
I woke with a sweat drenched pillow, the dreams that enthralled me were just out of reach but I could struggle and recall them if I didn’t hesitant any longer and with that thought, I pulled back the sounds of voices, calling like the fine wind and string instruments of lyre and lute. The voices were right, wisdom echoed in their cadence as I found my ship drawn inextricably to their haunting direction. Have you ever smelled perfume? Not the cheap whorish variety that smelled like cotton candy but a subtle scent that lingered long after she left the room? That’s how her voice seemed, a wafting fragrance that captivated both mind and body and caused me to drift aimless but not so misdirected as one lost, for my wanderings found their home in her arms. Ok, now that I wrangled my dreams from their abyss, I can take my sweat soaked bedding and snap open a beer that waited for me in the icy bottom of the cooler. Simple pleasures, intense dreams, cold beer, what more could a man want from chasing the pleasures of his Queen? I could go on but would you be interested in the musings of one who gave his ear in desperation of love, or one who wrote under the influence of acid and heroin? If not for leisure, philosophy would find no fertile ground. How can you think when your body is burdened with heat, sweat and fatigue? Yet, as I grabbed the sweaty pillow, I was lying down, sleeping, and still I sweated with what? Passion? Work? What trick of nature is this? I’m still and yet my dreams bring labor, enough work to leave me exhausted. Perhaps I actually live a life beyond the awakened drudgery of normalcy? Society feels no compassion for the sweat obtained through dreams, and yet, that’s were the miracles of living are brought to a vivid reality. Yes, my thoughts are work, yes, that’s my job, and yes, from it I am weary and sweaty. I’m off to work again, don’t look for me on the street, my tasks take me to roads never seen, and I dance with voices never heard.