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LoveCharlie666
Member since July 19, 2026
Member for 28 days
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Blame it on bad luck
Blame it on bad luck.
That is the reflex I reach for when the demons inside start screaming again.
They claw at my mind in the dead of night and I tell myself bad luck planted them there long ago.
Depression wraps around my throat like smoke and I blame bad luck for the weight that makes getting out of bed feel impossible.
Anxiety floods every quiet moment turning simple decisions into battles I pretend fate rigged against me.
Addiction whispers promises of relief and I surrender then curse bad luck for the cravings that never truly leave.
The cycle of using and hating myself repeats and bad luck becomes the excuse that absolves the needle or the bottle or the endless scroll.
Intrusive thoughts poison my self-worth and I point at bad luck instead of facing how I feed them daily.
Mental fog clouds every attempt to get better and I call it bad luck rather than the wreckage of my own avoidance.
Shame burns hot in my chest after every relapse and bad luck takes the blame for the weakness I refuse to examine.
Demons wear familiar faces in my head reminding me of every failure I bury under this convenient label.
I chase numbness through another night of escape and wake up blaming bad luck for the self-destruction I chose again.
Therapy sessions feel pointless because bad luck has already decided I am broken beyond repair.
The panic attacks strike without warning and I attribute them to some cosmic curse instead of unhealed wounds.
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Addiction tightens its grip while I mutter that bad luck stacked the odds from the beginning.
Isolation grows comfortable as I push people away and blame bad luck for the loneliness I actively create.
Dark thoughts circle like vultures and bad luck is the wind that keeps them aloft above my head.
I reach for the substance that quiets the noise knowing full well the temporary peace will cost me tomorrow.
Mental exhaustion leaves me hollow and I label it bad luck to avoid admitting I keep choosing what drains me.
The demons laugh when I try to fight back and I surrender faster by telling myself fate demands it.
Blame it on bad luck when the mirror shows a stranger trapped in cycles I cannot break.
Guilt eats away at whatever progress I manage and bad luck becomes my shield against real accountability.
Cravings hit like waves during moments of clarity and I ride them while cursing the luck that supposedly controls me.
Depression paints the world in shades of gray and I accept the palette as bad luck’s permanent gift.
Anxiety twists my stomach into knots before any small risk and I retreat rather than question the fear I nurture.
Addiction rewrites my story one hit at a time and bad luck signs the pages as the author.
Personal demons thrive in the silence I refuse to fill with honest work and I point outward for the cause.
The urge to disappear returns stronger each time and bad luck explains why I never fully commit to staying.
Mental health slips through my fingers like sand while I repeat the same destructive patterns under this excuse.
I hate the person I become in the grip of it all yet still blame bad luck for the transformation.
Relapse feels inevitable when the voices grow too loud and bad luck offers the perfect narrative.
These inner battles leave scars no one else sees and I hide them behind claims of cursed fate.
Blame it on bad luck becomes the mantra that keeps me stuck between wanting help and fearing change.
The demons know my weaknesses better than I do and bad luck lets me pretend I have no power over them.
Forty lines of this confession expose how deeply I use bad luck to dodge the real monsters within.
Yet even now the temptation lingers to shift responsibility one more time instead of facing myself.
Addiction and mental torment twist together into a knot I call bad luck to avoid untying it.
The raw truth sits heavy but denial feels safer than doing the painful work of healing.
Blame it on bad luck for the person I have become a prisoner of my own unclaimed demons.
This essay of excuses reveals the bitter comfort I find in never holding myself accountable.
Bad luck remains my favorite hiding place from the addiction the anxiety and the darkness I keep feeding.
LoveCharlie666’s timeline
- July 2026
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22 Wed
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22 Wed
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19 SunFirst publication
3:00 am
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19 Sun
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19 SunJoined Neopoet
Membership begins
First poem published 1 days later.
About Me
About me
Just a sad, drunk 32 year old who’s a Bukowski wanna be
Location: USA
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