Stuck

He was stuck in a place
where he saw his broken visage
reflected in the screen of sheer honesty;
wasting away from decisions from the long road
and regrets from the short road he could not resist.

He pounded his fist towards the unforgiving sky
and screamed at God for creating his own existence
and asked–begged–for it to be done.

The groups had done nothing for his addictions
except reinforce his resentment and anger,
They dared to question who he was
and he hated them for that.

He had decided to live his way
and tell the world, and it’s God,
that he would be his own soul
and no one nor prison of “compliance”
would penetrate his iron soul.

He had heard the words of “Perseverance”
and the words spoke over and over and over
in the groups by the same people every time
when no one who really needed help
had any chance to speak from the drowning and droning
of the “old-timers”

He was ill; physically sick of it all.

He turned away from the changes he was told to make
and retreated to a black and white island of drawn curtains
and ruffled sheets and the greyness of his soul
and told himself, Embrace the dark”

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