A narrow sewer tunnel has a tiny bright light at the end
And I’m Andy Dufresne, crawling onwards, stained, tattered, worn, broken
Even though I’m skewer-roasting in a hot hell they treat like a hotel
I still maintain a squinting focus on that little light of hope
Out at sea, boat capsized, thunderous storms lift me a hundred feet in the air
I grasp this raft, hold fast and put my faith in that little, twinkling lighthouse star
I could even laugh, sardonically, but I still find a way to bob my head melodically as I troop on, hope lies in my own theology, that is so contrary to the ways of this foreign forest

This crumbling mess of a body somehow lurches onward
Dragging my pathetically apathetic, tired mind with it
If there was once a me that floated along in ignorant bliss,
He’s been drown, and drowned well
Pulled into deep, dreary pits, where my intense emotion is fed forcefully by apathy and drugs to keep it at bay, from overwhelming, overtaking my mind
Giant anchors yank on the ends of my limbs resolutely like enslaved animals with whips to their backs
They urge me into this darkest water, where my coughs and cries never breach
Some invisible force says, “let it go,” “be at peace” embrace the ignorant sanction that you’re being drawn into
But some benign instinct ensures that a hold onto reality even in my most self pitying moments, like now

The self loathing and resent is strong tonight
Meaning another restless, sleepless night