"I'll quit tomorrow"
Say once again
I spoke those words yesterday too
Would take the easy route out of this
No shortcuts in Hell-I must go through
An excuse not to surfaces
Legitimate or not
Before I know it repeating mistakes
Hit after hit
Shot after shot
Of the places I've visited
Don't think I have ever reached one quite so low
Seeking whatever fleeting remedy
Leaves the least room to grow
You've got to wonder why I make these decisions
Swearing that "this time" I'm done
Got my back pressed against a concrete slab
Simply isn't anywhere else to run
Maybe I have gotten used to the fire
Been so long since my universe went up in flames
May be difficult to see through the smoke
At least that way there's a scapegoat to blame
I cannot claim I don't know any better
After two or three times learned getting sick
Regardless how many nights spent fighting withdrawals
Sobriety never seems to stick
Maybe I should give up on this battle
Surrender war and wave a flag of white
Let demons have their way with my soul
Accept that I'll never be alright
I am exhausted sprinting in circles
Find myself in the exact same place
Watching world spin around me so fast
While own life I only waste

Nobody lives upstairs.
A small purple cube,
on a huge, cozy bed,
it rests there.

Locked with a thousand keys,
a forgotten password,
rusted threads of steel
to make sure that
no one can get inside.

From that hidden place
the strange sounds slip out.

A formless entity that seems
to be alive,
to never go out,
is trapped for decades.
  
A small purple box
needs to be protected
from collapse,
by an inner yellow eye
so it doesn’t blink,
but watches to keep its secrets.

What is inside?
Envy,
jealousy,
desire,
or another force?

Should I name it aloud?
To understand,
to make real
the lost origin
of the human self?