Drowning within her four walls,
Soaked in self made torment.
Submerged in agony,
Little fight left.
Returning to the dark places,
Her mind draws her to.
Surrendering in error,
To the things she once knew.
Perhaps her hurt will all drift away,
Upon gentle waves of continuity.
Perhaps her eyes will open,
And this will have been, but a dream.
Or maybe she’ll drown,
Within her four walls.
Eyes closed forever,
In her slow, steady fall…
I can’t describe the devastation
The ache within my soul
I really thought this was my last go round
That I’d stay clean and sober, I’d grown
My failing incites hopeless despair
Suggests a lack of progress
I’m so disappointed I must start again
Seems such a futile conquest
My immature reaction grieves me
I want to “make the most” of this relapse
Use and drink as much as I can
Enthusiastically I gravitate to pure collapse
I hear the destructiveness
I hear the surrender and defeat
Yet, I’m grateful God has placed within
Many reasons to hope and believe…
New sobriety date May, 10, 2014
These recent “relapse poems” were written while I was in active drinking/using. I’m feeling much better today. I did not lose all I learned in the one year, three months, and five days I was clean/sober. I have to start the counter again… But I’ve learned so much. Thanks for reading guys. Much love.
With urgency, gathering all her strength,
Time progressing in obedience.
She tries to suspend the moment forever,
He’s leaving soon, risking life for defense.
The thought of losing him is torment.
To breathe she needs his love, his heart.
Sharing a singular beat, they’re united as one,
She has to ensure he doesn’t depart.
So she holds tight the the chains she lassoed time with,
As shards of active moments escape.
Knowing within, the efforts are futile,
Tomorrow will come; there will be a new day.
Yet she holds on till hands bleed, and chains empty,
Tears flowing from her darkened skies.
Weak from fighting a battle she couldn’t win,
In powerless despair she now prepares, to say her goodbyes.
Her umbrella settles upside down,
Open, but on the ground.
She grasps it by the firm handle,
And drags it slowly, letting it dangle.
The rain is falling in unforgiving buckets,
She’s drenched, cold and adapted to numbness.
Her steps are staggered, her head hangs low,
Dusk is upon her, and she’s all alone.
She feels a pull, a prompting from deep within.
To set the umbrella, upright again.
Slightly hesitant, she complies,
Lifting her head to join her open eyes.
Present once more in the moment,
Awareness restored, yet remaining reticent.
Her feet steadying, weakly standing tall,
Grasping the hand reaching out, preventing her fall.
The hand of God, powerful, and nostalgically familiar,
Love, warmth, and light surreal.
He calms the storm inside her soul,
Her upright umbrella; she’s alone no more.