An Eventual End

It is strange how often my passion and my pain are one in the same.
My Addiction kills slowly and the overdose is one of eventual failure.
Heart. Liver. Kidneys, all might fail. Too much joy in the blood to clog and clot.
Then, there is the hate which spirals from the top to bottom and is rocketed up again by some unseen and unknown force. Like a yo-yo, or a bounced ball. Up and down, violently and without true control over myself. It is a failure of another sort.

And there is more that I do, but among these failures is often a need for a betterment of the self. Every small victory celebrated, and it must or I will be unable to cope with life. There is a time in which I think I might explode. I don't know why I don't stop- say to myself, I no longer hunger. It seems an almost impossible thing for me to do at times and that is perhaps the most annoying aspect of all of this.

'One Step Back, I remain removed from myself. Watching as I do so many things which bring an eventual tide of shame. There is no moment but now- and I am unable to effect it. It is just out of my reach, no course to smack away those things that kill me. Emotionally or Physically.'