It’s faded, my future is jaded and
Is paraded through my line of sight like
A mangled, malnourished show pony that looks
Older than it is;
Old beyond its years, in terms of exhaustion.
It’ll be a work animal soon enough, a day laborer
With nights spent with the moon around it
And days with remembering the sun, imagining Her
Finding some other demented soul willing
To drive himself insane over Her.

Take each step one at a time, and only once,
The detoxers know this well.
Cling to the hope of getting better
And becoming whole again.
It seems so unlikely, I know,
But hope, no matter how slim the edge of it is,
Is worth grasping with every ounce of strength.
Then you can pull yourself up,
Drink from the cup,
And see the sun
Shining Her warmth with a smile.