Sometimes I wonder….
Am I what’s left after making the decision many years ago to not to do myself in?.
For there a few stints of bed-riddled-ness when I was younger.
It would have been easy to seriously contemplate ending it all.
But for some weird reason I always had at least a kernel of hope,
To stave off the dark reaper, the destroyer most grim –
Pick a name.
Perhap’s I mostly keep myself alive for the hobbies.
The 60s-90s Rock music, The writing, The coffee-houses.
Yes that all seems so glib,
But it’s amazing how those things can keep you going,
Even when carrying such a wounded soul,
Even while being left holding a quiver full of broken Cupid’s arrows.
Even after this process repeats with the next long-haired spell-caster.
For I probably wouldn’t try a short haired one – call me old fashioned.
But then again, who am I kidding? –
The Port O’ Love has long been closed indefinitely –
This wasn’t so much a choice per se,
More of something external that chose to wash over me –
These the oh so quiet waters of self-preservation.
Or is my entire life just an ode to undiagnosed ADHD?
ADHD that was masquerading as Depression?
I’m sure all the Docs know this & that’s the swindle –
I am convinced there will be a shady medical profiteer’s book called:
“There’s nothing more profitable than misdiagnoses”.
But here I am at middle age – 46 almost 47.
Still Alive & fighting each day to not become what I used be:
“Self-destructo”
That guy unfortunately squashed a lot of my chances to be young & happy.
Though he did provide plenty of empty drunken highs along the way,
So, I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.
I guess a wise man would simply be grateful for it all & soldier on,
& be happy for the bonus wisdom squeezed out along the way.
And I guess this is our fate anyway:
To live in a world that doesn’t really work,
With the real well-designed one,
Forever just slightly out of reach.
To the more troubled life, the thought is soothing.
And so as the sun goes down, now the comic ends.
And as always….
Once again by the end of the day, the city is safe.
……….but for how long?
Anton Martin Smith Writer 