My recovery has never been a straight line
I have relapsed time and time again
But I keep pushing forward
Doing what I can
Bad days come and go
Just like a storm
Then you look outside your window
And see the rainbow
You know you’re a writer when you can’t sleep
Until you jot down every last thought onto paper
Tonight I am in that dark place again
But this time I have no doubt
I will make it through
And the light once more
Will return in the morning
It took losing you to know how much you mean to me
And now it’s too late
Pour me a glass of brandy
And tell me the story behind your sad eyes
Sundays are made for coffee, a good book and laying in bed next to you
There was a time when I thought I could touch the moon and fly away on a shooting star
And there was a time when I held pink pills in my palm listening to death’s sweet whispers
Now I trade my “genius” for stability
The doctors tell me it is the price to live
What purpose is there for me in life if I can not write?
People talk about marriage, children and growing old
They ask for my opinion
And act surprised
When I say I don’t think that far ahead
How am I supposed to explain
I didn’t think I’d still be alive at 25?
Those highs and lows got some of the best years of my life
But hell, I’m here
So I’ll drink to still breathing
Just don’t ask me about marriage, children or growing old
