The Recovery

A found respect
and it took chaos
- unexplainable behaviours
not inherent in myself
but slightly at the fringe
of habitual motives
to side with the bottle
for so many years.

The cracks in the exterior
from the interior
waved such presence
as if a possession occurred
in our home.

We were all at the mercy,
and I foolishly fell into
this ridiculous notion
that I could rescue the addict
and painfully found a value
in being needed when
the flood of shame
- the aftermath of the bender
had you questioning whether to die,
or live with the affliction.

Time would prove that the party
would come to an end,
and had the universe not intervened
one wonders what further damage
could have been done.

All the friends (and even family) had no interest in our sober house,
once we weren't rolling out the red carpet
and ensuring they had full glasses.

You tackled your fragile state
like an athlete
and never looked back.

I was sidelined by a doctor
on an unrelated matter
and picked up a pen
in a state of desperation.

There will never be normalcy
but the alterations,
the stitching of the past with the future
have led us to the uncertain present.

And I'm starting to verbalize it,
pulling myself from a sullen place
and confessing to anyone who wishes to hear
truth in this distortion.

The guidance of kindness and love
does not require a reservation.

None of us are truly ever alone,
and my open heart,
once injured and caged,
has a new rhythm.