i feel a phantom vibration
where my phone usually rests.
i hear the Mockingjay chime
each time, as if i've received
an imaginary text.

weeks have passed. still,
the moments creep past.
no word. i wonder
what you're up to.
are you feeling any better?
when can i expect
to see you next?
i miss you.

i'm afraid my last letter
might've been misconstrued,
so here's the truth:
no higher power exists
to protect you. the 12 steps
cannot save you from the ghost
of addiction. i'd resurrect god
just to **** him again if it meant
i could help you. but i, too,
am powerless.

you've got two hands
on the steering-wheel.
white knuckle vise-grip.
liberty or death,
this or the apocalypse.
only you can save yourself.