What a glorious day to be alive
When the drugs wear off
and the dopamine’s low
That’s when the angels swoop in
With their swords of vengeance
And arrows of self-doubt.
On another crusade to make you feel bad
As if they represented the good in life
For they are the murderous zealots
armed with a history of judgmental patriarchy
They represent the holy atrocity
Responsible for some many deaths
And so much derision
And they come in the guise of self-recrimination
But when the sun shines
while the birds sing their hopeful song.
You are reminded that life is still lived.
There is a sublime satisfaction in self actuation
Where you tell the angels to fuck right off
For they hold no dominion over you.
You see them for what they are.
Fables. Lies. Stories used to explain hallucinations.
The drugs have allowed you to see them for what they really are.
When you can wake up on those days
And realize you lived by your own moral code
When you did right by everyone
And harmed no one
Or at least minimized
your impact to unintentional antipathies
When you kicked off the safety
And turned the gun of temporary madness
Back upon yourself.
You reveal your truest self.
That’s when you can stand toe to toe
Wing to wing
With Gabriel and his kind.