At some point along the twined and wily way
In the right un-sorted tales of my dossier
I grew tired of saying, 'Maybe one day!'
It could have been a Friday with skies pale grey
Or a bright blue-skied Monday, I can not say
Back then, my soul was on a chemical sway

But I hazily recall forming a thought
Right then— right there— in the moment— on the spot
That on the spot thought being, I had aught place
A bet on myself in this...