The waiting game
In my little time sober, I feel like I'm constantly waiting.
Waiting for the rain to stop,
Waiting to be able to put myself back together,
Waiting for all this to be worth it.
I sit in the waiting room and watch the clock tic, day in and day out.
When do I stop swimming upstream?
Am I ever able to sew myself back up?
Is it really worth the wait?
I'm so tired of the waiting room.
To be alive
The drugs will fill you up but they will suck you dry in the end, and the end comes rather quickly.
I am still left hollow.
I still wonder if I'll ever feel anything but the rain hitting my shoulders, and maybe it will be some time before the sun comes, but I will be there to feel its warmth on my skin.
What filled me those nights would only leave me rotting.
I will not find my happiness in the same places I lost it, I will not find my life in the same place I threw it away.
The life I wish to live is there, and maybe it isn't so far away.