monster is a relative term.

Emptiness is temporary.

When I have thought about the most disturbing thing in my life, I realized that everyday while I was using was more terror. Everytime I looked in the mirror, I realized that I was empty, and all I saw were tombstones in my eyes. Everyday I asked God to kill me; this was no way to live. But everyday I woke up breathing, everyday I felt the pain that overflowed despite my attempt to bury it beneath a veil of intoxication. It wasn't the days of asking God to kill me that made me accept that I needed change; it was the day that I wished I was alive.

I was the one that felt nothing. I think I possessed the traits of a human with flesh, a beating heart, and cage of bones beneath it all, but there was nothing humane about me. I was cold and cruel, I lacked the one quality that sets decent human beings apart from mass murderers and that's remorse. I was a liar, a thief, a character assassin, but most of all I was my own monster. A monster I created and my addiction perpetuated.

I never want to be like that again. I have no other choice but sobriety.

falling through oblivion; a dream.

I sat on rooftops fishing for angels with my sin as bait. In the belly of the city, however, I caught nothing but gutter goblins and street saviors. I reeled in flocks of fiends, but I always sent them back until I had nothing but a grime-fouled hook swinging like a scythe through the air, tapping Morse code prayers against windowpanes until someone yelled, "Ain't no one gonna save you!" I would have argued had my words not been noosed at the tip of my tongue, or crashed behind the wall of my teeth. I was only able to muster the strenght to wave my palms like white flags to the starry eyes of God. A choir of cupid came in a splash of ethereal light that blinded me and I collapsed to the ground; my fishing pole was dropped and crashed toward the ground like a comet. They sang in dead tongues and burned their imprint along the ladder of my spine, and painted wings across my back in bloodspun burns. A scream rattled around the hollow of my throat, but was swallowed back down with a sudden swell of courage. They gathered me up by the crooked halo of razorwire that hung above my head and cast me into the sky until I was nothing but another star; my ascension into the astral plane was short-lived and once I reached my celestial climax I fell. My limbs burned like the tail of a meteor. Star-gazers watched through the warped lense of a telescope and proclaimed their admiration of such a beautiful rarity.

I burned alone.