“Addiction is godless, headless, insane…”
“Addiction is godless, headless, insane…”
Addiction is godless, headless, insane.
It rejects faith, reason, feelings.
Addiction is heartless,
The blackest night.
No light. No sun. No stars.
In its nothingness,
We feel nothing
And accept that nothingness is acceptable
"Cunning. Baffling. Powerful."
“Alcohol Replaced Me, Cell by Cell”
Alcohol replaced me, cell by cell.
Until none of me was left.
Or so it seemed.
A dream within a dream within a dream.
Then not so merrily,
Now merrily again.
Row, Row, Row your boat
Until you can no longer float.
That's how it went.
That's how it was.
But I have lived to tell the tale.
Adjust your sail.
Recovery will replace your fall from grace,
Cell by cell, alcohol will be displaced.
Pull up a chair. The table is set.
Welcome back to the Human Race.
“Almost a Prayer”
All I have is now.
All I need is now.
All I am is now.
And that’s okay.
And that is good.
The world is still and I am moved.
Now is a food and I am full.
“The Drinking Life”
The Drinking Life
Each sip I took
Took some of me away.
Who could have guessed
One day I would be free?
I'm thankful for
This Sober Life today.
"The Flow of Life"
The Flow of Alcohol is Beaten by
The Flow of Life.
(The River of Time is Slow & Deep)
“Flying Rivers of Hope”
(Flying rivers, that's what some scientists call the massive clouds of moisture over the Amazon rain forest. They contain more water than the Amazon river below in all actuality, simply dispersed in the vapor trails we call clouds).
I live in the flying rivers of recovery,
not as noticeable as the flying monkeys
or the reptiles of the mind with snouts protruding
from the river of addiction below.
This cloud is hard to hold in your hand
or carry in your pocket,
but carry it with you.
Carry it with you.
let me live,
let me give and give back.
Flying rivers carry me,
carry me forward.
Flying rivers of hope,
fly me home.
“Halfway to Nowhere and Another Drink”
There was a time when I was not there,
But I did not know it yet.
I would drink to forget,
Forgetting what I did not know.
I did not know yet.
Where was I then, when I was not there?
For years I lived somewhere between myself
And the next drink.
I would drink to forget what I could not think,
Halfway to nowhere and another drink.
I was grieving and I did not know it.
Someone was dying, but I could not feel it,
Feel my own dying.
I could not own it because it owned me.
Denial is so hard to feel,
Yet, there it is, standing next to you.
You: Halfway to nowhere and another drink.
Insanity’s bouquet is not of different colored roses,
Or different flowers of various sorts.
It’s a bouquet of weapons, destruction, defense and offense,
All wrapped in lies and gin-soaked tears,
False laughter, hollowed-out bones.
This is insanity’s bouquet: Hot steel, cold steel,nothing.
I will fill the black holes of my memory with a retrained brain.
Live my way sober or lie my way drunk,
Powerless victim or sober victor. One foot
In front of the other.
“The Tomb of the Anonymous Addict”
walking down the street
you think you hear the sound of leaves scuttling along,
but these are the plans, hopes, dreams of the dead.
Wind barely whispering over the green lips
of empty bottles,
syringes puncturing the silence in their stillness.
Sentences gasping for a last breath,
The Tomb of the Anonymous Addict
is really many tombs in many doorways, further down anonymous valleys than any still alive have ever ventured.
No such monument truly exists.
the dead remains unidentified.
It is truly unnamed and unguarded.
It tires me,
this Tomb of the Anonymous Addict.
It exists in my mind only.
And it makes me weary.
“Tomorrow is the Apple Seed of Now”
Tomorrow is a storm coming over South Mountain.
The lightning's light will quickly reach us.
The thunder's rumble: an old man shuffling our way.
I thirst for rain, the hope for change.
I hold hope and turn it in my hand
like a hand holding and turning an apple.
Tomorrow is the apple seed of now.
I do not know where their branches might spread
or what bright wings of birds might land upon those branches
or if I will live to witness this.
Crunch! The apple in my hand.
Crunch! The memory of my footsteps in the snow.
Crunch! Eternity condensed into this Now.
Crunch! The illusion of my power.
More important than "What do you carry?" is "What carries you?"
Crunch! Tomorrow is the apple seed of now and nothing more.
Tomorrow is the apple seed of now and nothing less.
Crunch! I carry an apple. An apple carries me.
Recovery is my apple seed of now, my apple seed of now....
... Recovery is my apple seed of now.
Two-thirds cup of doubt in an empty cup.
That was my kind of luck.
No leap of faith would fill my drunken cup
or keep me sober.
My trust in my own recovery
is not yet complete,
has never been, and may never be.
I have to be here fully, or close to fully,
belly up to my own Recovery Bar.
I am my own Trojan horse –
a full cup hidden inside an empty one.
“Walk With Me”
“Here you are drunk and walking the halls
Of the Taj Mahal Casino,
Picking cigarette butts out of ashtrays.
You break off the filters and re-roll the butt ends
With new cigarette papers.
This is a way to survive, to think that you’re surviving.
This is when the only food is the juice in this vodka and cranberry.
This is when it takes you two solid hours to get out of bed
And put on a pair of shoes.
This is when there is no next drink,
There is just this one long drink that goes on forever.
This is where there is no up or down
And you can only move sideways.
This is where waking up is like falling through a stage prop wall.
This is where you carry you addictions in a cardboard box
As if you were moving to another location.
This is finding no location and the box is empty.
This is standing and not being able to move.
This is drunk and crashing, falling,
Falling through a bottom, tumbling.
This is where a hospital wakes you up and you do not know
Who you are or where you are….”
This is not you.
This is Alcohol.
Alcohol is that powerful.
Addiction is this extreme poverty of self.
This is where you scratch the surface until the truth runs clear.
Scratch the surface until the truth runs clear.
Until the truth runs clear.
You may also enjoy ALL DRINKING ASIDE: The Destruction, Deconstruction & Reconstruction of an Alcoholic Animal (on Amazon.com) http://amzn.to/1bX6JyO
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