UNSTEADY STEPS

Before I caught the ghost, the woman with snakes as hair, not medusa, turned my sleep to stone. Every time I opened my eyes after 2am, I felt as though I hit the ground. Mere boy am I, trying to be man. I have drank, dreamt, seen and heard, but all to naught. Some days I wake, some other days, I don't. Some days I wake, some other days I wish I didn't.
I am the author of The Fall, Dead boy, but I find it hard to jump. What really is it I hold on to, what binds my being to whatever it clings to? Easier said than done, I have hope, but have no idea if I possess faith.
The husband man told his strength to walk in my footsteps, even a saint can't tell my heart is unsteady. I know works cannot move HIM. Faith... where is this. The preacher says he is just a preacher, not a saint, he is the devil confessing his reality.
Discipline I know is flesh, but a life without it is in disarray. Am I lost already? It is not my fault, there are marauders all around me. That too, derails the reason of the course, throwing of blame may be the reason I plunge deep and deeper into this mire.
I just want to wake...