Alcohol
Alcohol, once never even a concern,
Became an overwhelming burden, a burning in my stomach,
I coveted the feeling, the extra kick, the shock of pizazz,
I liked reeling in my cups, I never had enough,
I never had a problem with this before,
Not until the dark energy assaulted me all winter,
At the end, it took the woman’s father,
The proverbial alcoholic himself,
To leave his mark on my soul,
The mark of devouring, consuming,
The mark looming over my head and under my bed,
The mark of the chronic drinker, the man who’s pain is so ingrown,
That he will never be sane, and never be known,
Hiding behind walls of chemically induced misery,
His history is all he has, and it eats away at him,
Destroying a healthy destiny,
He lives west of me, in Michigan,
To there I will never go again,
I’ve come away from the disease, I’ve passed on,
Though a gnawing fear in me keeps me inwardly drawn,
A pawn on a stage meant for powerful players,
An entertainer in states of rage, an emotional displayer,
The booze is now gone, for now, the time is so short,
And nothing I say or do, ultimately, to me, feels of any import.
