When I Wake
Once a lover of life and bearer of good news, a hedonist of sorts with a smile so full of life it caused even the most pessimistic person to utter hmmm...
Once a dreamer, a craver of experiences not just new, not just unfamiliar, but so far outside my self-identified comfort zone
Soaking up cultures, appreciating traditions previously unknown, eager to learn, excited to explore, filled with want, full of optimism
Today just a beaten down man, far removed from memories so beautiful that once allowed words of joy, hope, and love to be penned with such ease
Mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually stolen, ripped from limb to limb, and discarded like a bag of rotten trash on the side of the road
Unable to cope with the realities of this existence, I use my nights to pump myself with illicit drugs, alcohol, and other momentary pleasures
Artificial items that never touched my body or harmed my existence when I was a better, more versatile version of myself
Former remembrances of a dignified man having long since yielded to this disgraceful, spineless coward who has surrendered the will to compete
Understanding now, as someone who sold his soul so long ago, that any one of these vices on its own will help ease this pain temporarily
Hopelessly praying that I can stumble upon the right recipe that will allow me to leave this world entirely
Arriving at this dive of a bar, miles from everyday life, with a single goal of taking her to a seedy nearby motel, using her, and kicking her to the curb
Mixing cold drafts with shots of hard liquor, forgetting who I am more by the minute as I force down more liquor than my body can consume
Scoping this dimly lit bar for my suspected prey, a vulnerable, attractive enough woman who looks to be the most down on her luck
Saddling up next to her and a initiating conversation that might appear to the outsider that we’ve known each other for years
Secretly sliding pills into my mouth until my last inhibition is broken and I’m whispering to her that I’m willing to be anything she needs me to be
Trying some of this and some of that, hazardous blends of anything that will allow me lose myself in this moment and allow me to forget life completely
Push me away and that will all be perfectly okay, with these binding constraints now lifted I’ll just simply move on
More booze and drugs and soon I’ll strike up a conversation with her again, how we each will appear differently to one another as the night progresses
Or maybe by then even the loud ones, and the obnoxious ones, the fat ones, and the skanky ones will look kind of cute
As the evening wears on, I become less and less choosy, though always aware of the hour, closing time has hampered quite a few plans in the past
When I wake with cake crusted eyes, a nose filled with blood dried snot, and a throat so sore that I can hardly manage to swallow
When I wake well into the afternoon and cannot recall a single action of the previous night
When I wake with hangover after hangover after hangover, each one worse than the one before
When I wake with a pulsating headache, a stomach that is waging war on itself, and diarrhea that knows no end
When I wake I wonder if I will ever free myself of these self-imposed burdens that weigh heavily on these feeble shoulders
When I wake I wonder if I will ever be able to escape from this man I’ve allowed myself to become
When I wake, I wonder why
I wonder why when I’m awake
Mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually stolen, ripped from limb to limb, and discarded like a bag of rotten trash on the side of the road
Unable to cope with the realities of this existence, I use my nights to pump myself with illicit drugs, alcohol, and other momentary pleasures
Artificial items that never touched my body or harmed my existence when I was a better, more versatile version of myself
Former remembrances of a dignified man having long since yielded to this disgraceful, spineless coward who has surrendered the will to compete
Understanding now, as someone who sold his soul so long ago, that any one of these vices on its own will help ease this pain temporarily
Hopelessly praying that I can stumble upon the right recipe that will allow me to leave this world entirely
Like two ravaging animals, grappling and twisting, ripping and tearing, clawing and scratching, lust can be quite the emotion
Plunging into her with as much intensity, aggression, and force as she’ll allow, only letting up when I’m told
A drenching sweat falls from my face, chest, shoulders, and arms, coating her body in all the right places
Though I shouldn’t, I can’t help but grin wildly and praise myself silently for securing this score
Collapsing afterwards, I can’t help but grab my head; the spins have already begun and I know how much worse they will soon become
Completely spent, I offer nothing; there will be no cajoling, no tenderness, and no words of comfort
Any preconceived notions that this was anything more than it was will be quickly erased with my purposeful abrasiveness
I’ll offer to walk her back to the bar, to pay for her cab fare, anything to get her out of this room permanently and as quickly as possible
Once alone I’ll check the rolling camera to make sure the event was captured perfectly, her face, her body's movement, everything about her
Satisfied, I wash down a handful of various pills, knowing perfectly the combination that will knock me into a deep, remorseless sleep
When I wake with cake crusted eyes, a nose filled with blood dried snot, and a throat so sore that I can hardly manage to swallow
When I wake well into the afternoon and cannot recall a single action of the previous night
When I wake with hangover after hangover after hangover, each one worse than the one before
When I wake with a pulsating headache, a stomach that is waging war on itself, and diarrhea that knows no end
When I wake I wonder if I will ever free myself of these self-imposed burdens that weigh heavily on these feeble shoulders
When I wake I wonder if I will ever be able to escape from this man I’ve allowed myself to become
When I wake, I wonder why
I wonder why when I’m awake
Mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually stolen, ripped from limb to limb, and discarded like a bag of rotten trash on the side of the road
Unable to cope with the realities of this existence, I use my nights to pump myself with illicit drugs, alcohol, and other momentary pleasures
Artificial items that never touched my body or harmed my existence when I was a better, more versatile version of myself
Former remembrances of a dignified man having long since yielded to this disgraceful, spineless coward who has surrendered the will to compete
Understanding now, as someone who sold his soul so long ago, that any one of these vices on its own will help ease this pain temporarily
Hopelessly praying that I can stumble upon the right recipe that will allow me to leave this world entirely 
Self-loathing to the nth degree. I don't know if I've ever read something in which the speaker hates himself so much.
All I can say is that sometimes it feels good to write with reckless abandon.
I'm not sure there that there is ever coming back if you hate yourself as much as the speaker hates himself in this story.
Written in 2011
Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser