Irony is a malicious art-form. It’s shocking and sneaky and dripping with deceit.
Is it a karmic curse? Do I deserve to be toyed with like a worn out voodoo doll?
Did I ask for this? All the years of not caring at all.

Putting myself in harms way begging to be struck. 
Dancing around the fire drunk with a lust for self-sabotage.
And escaping fate every single time. 
It seems like a bad-joke that I would be begging for a stress-free life as of now.
After years of fine crafting it through my own mayhem.
What if i went back to the old me? 
Is it even physically or emotionally possible?
To just throw every constructive project I’ve started away and not care again.
Would I get my health and poise back over night?
or am I bound to experience all the torture I craved when I was numb to it all.
I’m not numb anymore, I feel everything.
Every breath not fully drew in, every ache every stabbing pain.
When I gave up on feeling whole, and lived a life of running I felt nothing.
When I stopped and started trying to fill the void, 
I began experiencing every single wretched thing I ran from at once.
All the hate, and self-loathing. 
All the wounds I had cauterized in the open-flame I danced around “care-free” peeled open and left to fester.
A disease like plague rotting my entire being from the core. 
Inside out. Ridding me of any ability to sit still and enjoy the moment.
All I did before was live in moments. 
Live for the moment. 
Leave town in a moment. 
Burn the bridge in a moment. 
Jump off the bridge in a moment.
Truly not even contemplating consequence. 
Now all I do is contemplate the consequences, i am suffocated by them.
Buried alive by thoughts that hold so much power they immobilize me. 
Leave me paralyzed by a fear that I never knew before.
The fear of failure. 
The fear of losing. 
The fear of unfinished progress. 
The fear of missing out.
The fear of dying. 
The fear of living at all.