I cling
to my vice
because it is
the only constant
in a world
that seems to move on
without me.

To stand still
is to fall back.

Back into that hole
I've been living in.
Not stuck,
for I have always
been capable
of calling for help.

But I have been called higher,
deeper,
cleaner.

My new constant
should be the knowledge
of my struggle.
I am free to refuse,
to stay still,
but at what cost?

My sanctity
will cost me
everything.

I am not
the version of myself
that will be called
holy
heroic
courageous
I am called to conversion
day, after day,
after day.

Teach me to wade.
I can't swim,
so guide me in
to my ankles
my knees
my waist

Prepare my lungs
to be submerged
for I can't stand
on dry land
much longer.

My purity
lies past the horizon
and, little by little,
I will make my way.