It’s the voice telling you to start again.
It’s the voice warning you to stop. The voice
saying you know how to end the pain.
The voice lying of how you have a choice.
But there’s no choice now. Only the craving
whisper to change the way you feel. Relief.
The one track of sigh turning to raving.
The creeping echo: That insane belief
this time will be different. This time you’ll
control it. So you take the solution
seeking the solution: that tool to fool
yourself again, seeking revolution
through slavery. Believe poison is leavened
bread. Believe your repeating hell is heaven.
Roger Armbrust
July 18, 2020
