School days, school daze, little boy days, can’t
Never guess how the story would unfolds, you
Being some gray-haired out coot now, sitting with
All your gray-haired cohorts, not believing that
Sweet child grew up and became you.
What hurt then had no words, could never predict
A life where unfilled emptiness could never be filled,
Pain and insanity of youth, unimagined come to you and
Seeks oblivion in addiction, escaping reality, flees
From the story of life unfolding.
Once across childhood’s threshold, into the realm
Adult, never growing up, holding on to toys and
Playthings best left behind, seasoned and vetted,
Not realizing how much trash gets absorbed fills up the mind
That mystified unfilled void, when drugs and their lot take away
All that lay between youth and recovery, if that’s where
The road finally leads.
Many die, but this is my story, not theirs. Many
Spend their days locked in a prison of their own making
Deep within some hidden world where no one can
Enter and hurt is gone in dull oblivion
Others live in recovery.
You don’t want to talk about this, so neither do I but
We are and we gotta because, its time it came hurtling
Out of its own sick closet. Every hour another dies
And every hour I question god’s intent. Did It make this
Or are we the broken ones? Some get fixed, some fix
And stay broken.