We should know better
With or without schooling.
If we willfully refuse,
If we disregard the facts;
We are ignorant.
That's below below average.
We made a choice.
A choice is not a chronic disease.
Not like mine.
It was never my choice.
I don't know if it happened
Before or After,
But the manifestation was slow, profound,
And addictive.

He lived down the street from us,
And came to be known as,
The man whose wife left him.
We speculated and surmised.
None but two knew the reason why
He became
The man whose wife left him.

He stopped cutting the grass
And weeding the beds.
He won’t play his uke
On the porch like he did.
From all accounts,
He was a good Dad,
None ever heard him
Explete a foul word.
He worked till retired,
Never was fired.
I'm told he lived a gentle life;
Never started a fight,
Or ran from strife.
That's what I heard
About the man whose wife left him.
Left to his own devices,
The man whose wife left him,
Left.

Don't give up on me. Please.
I'm begging you.
I know that look.
You're shutting down.
I've made promises before,
And I've meant them 100%, every time.
But my faults prevail. I know them well.
So do you. I've promised to get help,
And I did. It failed... I failed...
I failed myself and in so doing,
I've failed you.
But please, don't give up on me.
I know I can change, but I don't know how.
I've tried. I went back to my old prayers,
To professionals, to my innermost self.
I've worked on it so many times,
Alone and with others,
But never with you.
You distanced yourself from my troubles,
Even though you were an intricate part.
You had a stake in this.
You have a stake in this.
Don't give up on me.
You'll see.
I'll be me again, before the troubles.
But what's to become of me,
If you give up on me.
Don't! Please!

I heard a voice
call out:

Are you home?

(perhaps it came
from within)

A stranger's voice
that's called
before.

I am
insular.

I am Home!

Inside

This temple of dissipation.

He knows it is poison, yet indulges.
It's the one way he's learned to live through it.
And so stays dry. It's sobering.
For months and months and months,
It's a life he enjoys.
Then comes the itch, so the plan is engaged.
Leave and become a stranger,
A pub-fly in Ireland.
And when he returns, Day One is at hand.
The cleansing is on.
For three days he digs, buries himself
In the dark.
Wretching and heaving til bruised.
Step by step by step...
A red face lights the sink basin,
Water, not tears fill his eyes.
By eight tonight Day Two begins.
But that's still hours away.
Back to the sink.
When  Day Three dawns,
He rises and walks out.
Step by step by step...