Today's post is brought to you by the letter S

He watched solemnly as the rain pelted the window.  The drops, gathering and sliding.  Sliding down, always down because hope is never a substitute for gravity.

He was alone and this was his usual state.  This was what he had grown accustomed to.  Any other day it wouldn't have bothered him but today he was sad.  Sad because he had let himself slip again.  It had been a long time since he had slipped and he knew it was coming but powerless to do anything about it.  Hope is no substitute for fate.  The tears came surprisingly fast, he thought he was stronger.  The rage followed shortly afterwards because alcohol is never a substitute for hope.

He remembered the days of his youth, the malice in her eyes, the sting of the belt.  It only took a small amount and the memories poured forth, black and sticky like an ink well knocked over on burnt skin.
Deep into his state of cogitation he could smell the smoke and the spilled liquor.  He could hear the creaks of the drug house bed springs masquerading as payment.  The sweet stench of the smoke.  The slap of the hand reddened his face even now and his tears glowed upon them as they made their journey down his cheeks.

This time it was stronger than before and he couldn't make it stop.  A choked off cry poured forth and it all came loose because in the end control is never a substitute for hope.  Hoping is what had led him here again against all his efforts to stop it.  he clenched his fists, digging fingernails deep into his palms, leaving scarlet crescent shapes.  The physical pain did nothing to stop it.  He was gone again.

He would come around again, sooner or later and he would pray for it to leave him alone.  To stop the torment but alas prayer is no substitute for reality.  It would be clear again if only for a little while.  A much needed respite was in order from himself.  He should have been better.  It was always his fault and he knew it and in the end he was always............
Sorry