A temporary state

Have you ever found yourself in a very dark place
I don't mean one outside the sphere of your influence
but one without the scant comfort of blamelessness
where what is happening is solely a consequence
of action or at least some inaction on your own part

Have you found yourself in such a place as this
where even the walls echo shouts of accusation
this is your own doing ... own doing ... own doing
and candlelight throws flickering shadows of doubt
upon the walls dripping slow tracks of aged tears

I wander among the stalagnites, the stalegtights
I can't remember the difference between these two
but the colours, the blues, the transulscent greens
the channels of deep despair written clear here
beneath the transience of my soft lingering touch

Some places touch you with a sense of such history
a knowledge of ancient damaged broken hearted souls
who wander aimlessly through these hallowed halls
of life's own creation, all those sacred memories
of a time before even the knowledge of time began

Gathering, piled like rustling leaves in a quiet corner
away from the blistering howling then whispering wind
useless is acknowledged knowledge of what should be done
against this self loathing, a raging fire burning bright
consuming will, demeaning any kind of resolution

This is what I mean when I say a very dark place
a desolate destination arrived at by my own hand
and so much the worse for that, for the blame, the shame
of knowing better but allowing this to get the better of me
of a dependance on an addiction unsolved as yet