This is Sobriety

This is sobriety...

A mind full of chaos.

A mind attempting to find truth within the lies and lies within the truth.

The allowance to let the poltergeist reign, its favorite hobby to bang the doors of all the mental file cabinets letting files fly and entertwine until it all becomes twisted and torn.

This is sobriety. 

To feel more out of control trying to control.

Trying to control what?
A substance, not the root of all problems but to simply control by removing a dependence on a substance deemed unfit in this high class society we have here. 

Then the expectation lies that all should be well. 
Yet you have a harder time functioning because your forced to let go of the headphones that calmed the loudness of your mind and then your expected to live your whole life in control of the loud mind.

You found a medication better than all the doctor prescribes, yet because it isnt rationed out in the proper it is deemed unfit.

Nothing seems to calm the loudness anymore.  It just keeps getting louder to the point you cant handle people because they just add to it.  With their opinions, critics, their misplaced need to help that makes it sound so easy to one with a calm mind.  The judgement from those who have no comprehension of the swirls of colors that are becoming black.  The words that have begun to blend into one mass.  The voices all around me that lock themselves in and hit repeat.  The routine of waking from the disturbed blend of life replaying in my mind when all you wanna do is sleep.

This is sobriety.

When I lived as free as the breeze life was so simple.  I didnt feel trapped.  I could drown out the idiots.  I could drown out the noise.  I could turn off the loudness of my mind. Nevermore. Nevermore.

This is sobriety. 
The colors dont make sense anymore. 
I begin to lack trust even in myself for fear within this chaos what is truth and what is deceit. Am I the deceiver or the decieved? 
Is this all truly my responsibility and mine alone to carry to my grave being completely unknown.

A victim of my own birth, I never asked for birth but I have surely asked for death.  I never asked for my upbringing and all the darkness in which griped its claws in me and left  a permanent mark before I even knew to speak.  Yet even now with a voice, it isnt enough because it is all about a girl wanting attention.  Nothing more then playing the victim.

Yet I have never viewed myself a victim.  That word only shows me visions of a multitude of cowardice men.  I am a conqueror, a survivor, a girl who has a loud mouth and now a strong fist.

This world never allowed me to grow into the beauty of a lily but the thorn who only ever wanted to be the rose.  I never asked for what I have become and I fought like hell never to become, yet now nothing else matters but what now remains.

I just wanted to be the constant laughter in the crowd, nothing more nothing less but this final blow broke me and forced me to realize what I must become without a true choice.  The final petal dropped without the kiss of love and now the beast will remain because her heart cares no more.