"Guilt"
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A slam poem about the delusional, misguiding, and elusive nature of being hooked on drugs...and the remorse, shame, and disgust that come with it.
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I've kicked up dust on this journey,
Just enough to smokescreen what I needed to hide.
But what are you supposed to do,
When 99% of people
Who are just like you,
End up in jail,
End up in an institution,
Or end up dead?
What do you do
When the odds
Are always stacked against you,
When bent facades
Wrapped around
And fenced you,
When the river card's
Been falling hard,
But yet,
It's your only out;
Now doubt
Is prevalent,
And you're on that medicine,
And you realize
It's not some delirious state,
Or
Mysterious case,
It's reality,
You're carrying serious weight,
The kind that puts you
in an inferior state;
It's guilt.
It's a burden.
It's an excuse
To never grasp what's in reach.
Have you ever felt like there was something so close,
That it was completely distant?
See no matter how bad I wanted things,
They seemed so deeply resistant.
And I pointed fingers,
Placed blame,
Ran for years,
Enlisted,
But only by me,
See,
The fact of the matter is the truth train left the station
And I missed,
Purposely.
Because guilt.
Because of some pseudo burden.
Another bullshit excuse.
See that's my story,
In my mind it all felt so legit,
Like I actually might not control it,
The weight of R136a1,
And it was white hot scolding,
With a piping hot golden
Seductive presence,
Spiking my emotion
With overflowing lure
And azure, I saw,
Black tar, pills, wax paper powder,
A floodlight's spot
Throwing
A bright spot,
Coaxing
Beams
Of my own omen,
Beams of guilt.
A blinding burden,
Winding roads of more excuses,
Binding,
Defining,
That guilt was self inflicted,
Not real.
Made up.
Now I'm water,
I might not hold it
It's a message of truth,
Faith,
Atonement.
A mic drop moment.
Just enough to smokescreen what I needed to hide.
But what are you supposed to do,
When 99% of people
Who are just like you,
End up in jail,
End up in an institution,
Or end up dead?
What do you do
When the odds
Are always stacked against you,
When bent facades
Wrapped around
And fenced you,
When the river card's
Been falling hard,
But yet,
It's your only out;
Now doubt
Is prevalent,
And you're on that medicine,
And you realize
It's not some delirious state,
Or
Mysterious case,
It's reality,
You're carrying serious weight,
The kind that puts you
in an inferior state;
It's guilt.
It's a burden.
It's an excuse
To never grasp what's in reach.
Have you ever felt like there was something so close,
That it was completely distant?
See no matter how bad I wanted things,
They seemed so deeply resistant.
And I pointed fingers,
Placed blame,
Ran for years,
Enlisted,
But only by me,
See,
The fact of the matter is the truth train left the station
And I missed,
Purposely.
Because guilt.
Because of some pseudo burden.
Another bullshit excuse.
See that's my story,
In my mind it all felt so legit,
Like I actually might not control it,
The weight of R136a1,
And it was white hot scolding,
With a piping hot golden
Seductive presence,
Spiking my emotion
With overflowing lure
And azure, I saw,
Black tar, pills, wax paper powder,
A floodlight's spot
Throwing
A bright spot,
Coaxing
Beams
Of my own omen,
Beams of guilt.
A blinding burden,
Winding roads of more excuses,
Binding,
Defining,
That guilt was self inflicted,
Not real.
Made up.
Now I'm water,
I might not hold it
It's a message of truth,
Faith,
Atonement.
A mic drop moment.