funeral pyre

how could i not be obsessive 

it is entirely in my nature

in AA 7 hours a day

12 steps forward, im trying to be pure 

     i step back into a bed

a little present in my head

a reward for my heard work

well, it’s something that feels good instead

      of the tired, sobbing voices 

that fill up the plastic room

i smile and keep my head up

knowing i’ll still head for my doom

no one can save me

and no one really tries

not even the woman in the sterile room

who keeps tabs on the scars on my eyes

never a clean slate

no matter how hard i scrub

     when i carry my heavy feet to bed

and erase the oaths  that i made up 

a catatonic liar

 watching the funeral pyre

of the life i could have led 

if i had been someone else instead

the flames dance on my temples

the embers burn inside my mind

    if i step onto a branch,

will i be the sacrifice?

or will the world be so cruel

     as to let me make it out alive

i’ll never take those chances

won’t walk towards shelter without the vow

that one way or another

i’ll be drowned out by my shroud.