Chained

To consequence

Image by Antonio Dillard.

I am the golden boy, of consequence
A cynosure collision of circumstance
And ill-fated abjurations
Of my widdershins wellbeing, unseen
Untamed, unspoken, muted utterings
Miming my way through misfortune
Permanence is purgatory
Misshapen diagnoses posing as some
Discursive ↓ downcast ↓ imprecation
Imprinting obsidian lines on MY
Parthenian
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ — mind —

Denial befriends those who heed its
Caricature call
Reality fashioned from sand and silt
Bested the harsh bloodshot beast, of
Acerbic acceptance through gritted
Teeth, rend lips trembling in tandem
Reading from the denialists’ script
“I’m perfectly well”
Yet denial comforts and embalmed a
Semblance of my soul, a blithe balm
Perceptual
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎  — illusion —

Mourning until morning as a messiah
A maverick of the mind, strong and (?)
Oh so stoic
It was all in my hermetic, hYpErBoLiC
Headspace, spaced betwixt the sick or
Salubrious and I bent no knee, no will
Chimera dreams, cavalier nightmares
Yet night stared
Clairvoyant consequences baptized my
Upturned ↑ psychosomatic infinitum ∞
Prophetic
‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎— downfall —

Acquiescing with calloused cornucopia
Hands was my first stuttered STEP as I
Told telltale truths
Defeatism initialed itself all over my
Borrowed body, bellicose blood, bonds
Of shackled acceptance bound all eyes
All-knowing altogether
Nobody truly fights fear alone, nor do
Stigmata wounds scar, cognate crucible
Wallow in shame or call it by its name
Panic
‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎        — disorder —

© Edward Swafford 2025 - Originally Published in Scrittura.

Thank you for reading/listening.

This piece is the entrée before We Are Addicts launches into the Substack stratosphere.

My story of addiction originated from anxiety and panic disorder. Prescription anti-anxiety medications allowed me to experience temporary freedom from fear - at a price.