The Canvas

I wake up from what appears to be a nightmare
Only to realize that it is life imitating art—
My life the canvas upon which these vials of medicine are spilled.

“I feel just fine,” I tell myself in the mirror.
I look and act like my normal self.
Hah! Now that’s a good word—normal—
A word that has lost all significance in my life.

There really is no need to continue with all of these pills.
Everything is in control, and their effect only dulls my senses.
So what if I stop? Who is to know?
I desperately need that clarity stolen by these cunning capsules.

The peaks and valleys come back with a vengeance.
The highs I desire—that cheap thrill ride of ecstasy
That seems to last forever—the clarity is back,
And the canvas is bright with colors once again.

Yet, I know in my heart where everything will ultimately lead.
The long and twisted road toward that downward spiral,
Slow and insidious at first, then slamming into my face—
Immediately life no longer has any meaning,
And the clarity so brazenly pursued goes up in a flash.

Too soon I pay the price—the canvas melts before my eyes.
Instead, only a numbing sensation filled solely with shades of gray.
How deep will I sink this time? How long will I let it continue?
Surely, another high is just around the corner—can I make it ‘til then?

I know this vicious cycle all to well—my own personal crash and burn.
There never is another summit lurking when I need it,
Only the dark void that replaces all life.
Too late to admit that these pills paint my canvas whether I like it or not.

So, my choice is to escape from this trail of meds and experience all that life has to offer.
And that leaves me with only one option: to take the brightly-colored canvas
Along with the ultimate death grip I know will come my way—My canvas is blank.©2007