Once again I'm spiraling downward,

drastically losing control,

like a stripper in a dive with a brave face on,

working with oil on her pole.

I'm relapsing hard with no friction to hinder

my journey down this turnpike.

Taking every knock and physical shock,

as if my body was a broken-in dirt bike.  

And still every day,

through every affray,

I'm searching to find a solution.

I've hit rock bottom

but not forgotten

that I am my own pollution.

And I've said it before

but I'll say it again;

I am my own worst enemy.

But until I get it

and truly understand it,

I'll inevitably continue to plague me.

I want to be different -

I don't want to relapse.

I should avoid escapism each time.

But facing things head on,

for me, is a problem

that I regularly depict in rhyme.

And ketamine and weed

are not the answers,

they only narrow my perspective.

Yet, I find when I hit them

it's the midst of the trip when

I truly find I'm reflective.

And although I think deep

and explore all dilemmas,

I still emerge on the same plateau.

Because when I reach each solution

it's with the convolution

of the rock bottom assistance of drugs, though.