I was feeling conflicted

                   I Was Feeling Conflicted

I was feeling conflicted
about being restricted. 
Then again being addicted
was so unexpected. 
So I collected my stuff,
said “Tough!”,
and left. 
And right I was. 
All night I was rough. 
But enough. 
One can be gruff only so long. 
So I said “So long.” 
It’s been good to know you.
    Leaving.  Grieving. 
Believing you are losing
what you need. 
A form of greed. 
A seed of suffering. 
Buffering perception. 
Conception. 
Birth.  Mirth. 
All a joke. 
And it started with one tiny toke. 
A poke. 
So I ran.
        I lost my breath.
        Hoarfrost my breath. 
My inspiration. 
My mental respiration. 
Meditation. 
Trepidation. 
Fear comes near
and all I hear is
the call of the wailing wall. 
I run away for a day
and stay in a crayon box
next to burnt sienna.
    Traces of faces. 
Crying erases old places.
    Did you think I drink?
    I never ‘bibe a beverage.
        Too much memory severage.
        Too little salvage.
    By and by I lie on my high horse.
        Of course.
    My source.
    Sigh.  Hoarse.
    Sore.  Throat.
        Horehound.
    I was feeling convicted
of being evicted.
    Neglected.
        Erected.
    Dissected.
        Misdirected.
    It’s hard
on the soul.
    A house
is not a hole.
    A mountain
is not a mole.
    I never intended
        To pretend.
Intention takes attention.
    Pretense is my essence.   
    Trenchant.
        Enchantment.
    The light came on.   
    I woke up with a start.
    With the right name on.
    Sometimes I forget
        my name.
    I regret my fame.
        Secret.
    Moist.
        Testing.
        Resting up before another trial.
    Jury duty.
        Imagine deciding on the
        guilt or innocence of another.
    I can’t even decide on my own.
    You would think you could do that
        on your own.
    Confession is good for the solitary.
        I confess.  Undress my mind.
        Regress. 
    One address is as good as another.
        I stand as a brother
    To those who died.
        A rose that I tried.
        Cried.
    Roses are ready.
        Steady.
        Heady.
    Violets are true.
        Ultra true.
    Old flowers reaching
        for a new custom.
    Teaching.
    Old ideas.  Bust ‘em up.
    Thrust ‘em down.