24hr Chip

mental illness runs rampant
like a sort of forest fire

at a certain point you no longer attempt to contain
but instead predict outcomes and work with devastation

you mourn destruction a little less
and completely stop wondering what if

freedom isn’t an uphill battle
it is an imaginary light at the end of a very real tunnel we’ve been running towards for so many years

all the medicine cabinets, sock drawers, re-uptake inhibitors, intervenes calms
all the staggered breathing, lies and no phones home

no one's safe, really
false idols and broken father figurines
your mother has run out of tears and sleeping pills
and no one really works
but so many meetings

no one uses the addicted word
because we could all stop anything if we really really really wanted to

(it sounds as if we are in this together, but we aren't) 

so choose your vice then can’t think, twice
incapable of choosing to end anything
even your life

avoid mirrors and seek psychics
read your palm before the news

10 of cups reversed, the tower, so predictable, and cyclical

you can’t see clearly, and he can’t see clearly
and she can’t see clearly

me and you, we learned 12 steps before we learned to walk

these tired troubled hands seem as intrepid as twisted
something dark comes knocking

your ears are ringing

sometimes you can’t help but answer the phone