sobriety.
who would believe that I prayed for this.
poison.
I can’t believe I ever touched that ****;
touched beauty bottled, rolled, burning.
don’t think; you might tip the wagon.
don’t drink; you’ll spare your sanity.
don’t smoke; you’ll surely burn alive.
the child’s impending suicide.
it’s pain in a pen, a bottle that bleeds;
it’ll knock you back to your shaking knees.
back to praying.
but if I break, don’t ******* ask why,
for the artist is an addict, no matter how dry.