The Day I Died

I know it was a Thursday, probably raining      
Day four of a binge that would end in death      
       
Lying naked, curled up in a sweaty ball      
Finding my own rocky bottom, so alone  
       
She was away, on the other side of the world      
Not there when I so needed her most  
 
The stage had been set for another cliche
Another to lose the struggle with suicide      
       
Sobbing until it hurt to cry, tears all spent      
Shaking like the junkie I was needing a drink      
       
Calling out God's name and only hearing my voice echo      
Choosing the inky darkness, embracing nevermore      
       
Too drunk to stand I managed to get the knife      
My favorite piece of chef cutlery      
       
Fittingly to become the means for cutting short my life      
I can still feel the cold finality of the blade      
       
In its reflection the tragic distortion    
Of the man I had come to loathe and so despise      
       
Ironically the writer did not want a note      
No poetic words to pen for this act of desperation      
       
Closing my eyes I prepared to do the deed      
Grasping the handle with both trembling hands ...      
       
Then I felt the head of my Samoyed, Mishka      
She had placed it on my stomach and started crying      
       
Next I felt the warmth of my Husky snuggling up to me      
Kita's cries joining those of her worried sister      
       
My thoughts redirected to them and their fate      
If I continued, who would take care of them      
       
And so it was that day I died, the pathetic drunk      
The man who made excuses and never faced the truth      
       
But it was also the day I was reborn, given a new life      
Cold sober now for over four years, a day at a time      
       
So even now I weep when I hear Sarah sing "Angel"      
For I know some angels have paws instead of wings