On the edge of the night
A night crawler I am not. Bed these days comes early. And for good reason. Nothing good happens after midnight.
Try telling that to who I used to be. I'd pick up a huge rock. Pipe. Screens. This at about 10am. Drink at the pub at that time. Find a new buddy to take home and smoke until the edge of the night.
That's when I hung sheets on the windows to keep the dark still. My mind tweaked. If you knew me you would not meet me and walk away saying crackhead. I used to look in the mirror and say that to myself. " ken.... You.... You are smoking crack." With a contemptuous tone of disbelief. Then go back to take a bigger hit in hopes it would last just that bit longer than the last. Never satisfied. Wanting more with each.
It's the most insidious concoction. It has no purpose on this earth. No purpose in my lungs. My gentle mind. My loving heart.
The thought of paying a visit to that person. That time. It's unfathomable.
That was ken the crackhead. Ken the drunk however has to be slain.
I am sober today. On a vacation. Seeing where I want to settle next. Finding my way. Taking nothing for granted.