Clean Slate
I thought I found the hack, the speed, the way,
Staying up wired, ditching sleep for days.
My brain was fire, my words were fast and sharp,
Playing a tune on a broken, jangling harp.
I tracked the deals, the people, and the time,
Felt like a genius committing a perfect crime.
The world got thin, the food tasted like dust.
Every good feeling came covered up in rust.
The clever talk? Just smoke to hide the pain,
As every real thing washed out in the rain.
I lost the house key, then I lost the house.
Quiet as a frightened, cornered mouse.
Then came the crash. Not a slow slide, but a wall.
Hit the hard bottom, watched the pieces fall.
No flash of light, no big, dramatic twist.
Just cold reality hitting my raw wrist.
The notebook empty, the old pages torn,
A broken promise made on a sad, lost morn.
Now it's just slow. The hard, boring work.
Waking up sober, dodging the old jerk.
I trade the fast life for the quiet truth;
Trading that fire for a simple, solid roof.
I count the days, not the hours that I burned.
The lesson's simple: I finally learned.