i cried last night
because you weren’t mine.
i cried because you hurt me.
i cried because i wanted you
to do it all over again.

ten nights,
my glass held nothing
but water and light.

ten mornings,
i woke to myself
instead of forgetting.

tonight,
my heart spilled open
and the world drank me in.

26th day of sobriety, of self-respect  
Detox can be spirit-breaking.  
It often feels like a slow death.  
The cravings pulse with each heartbeat,  
leaving you drained,  
urging you to reach out —  
perhaps by texting, sending an emoji,  
Or maybe just "liking" a post
Consumed by the need to stay attached to what is familiar.  

You dwell on old messages,  
waver between memories of sweetness and pain.  
But one day,  
You find the strength to release them.  
You erase the old threads,  
delete the contact,  
and reclaim yourself.  
You might still relapse  
until you learn to recognize the red flags  
and to stand tall in your conviction  
to avoid repeating the toxic cycle.

i've got this dark desire
but i keep it hidden locked away inside
used to drink these demons away
but it started tasting lonely

When I was young no one said stop this aint for teens
It was fun then when it was in
But not when you want out
And the behavior is no longer funny
Hot then, Not now,
Cool then, Mild sound
Heart beat pounds now
No where to turn now
But stop wait you got this
Its 14 days you ain't miss
You didn't miss the alarm
'Cause you didn't oversleep
Snores so loud cause liquor got you deep
Sunday dinners now prep and ready
Minds a bit clear, steps are steady
Meds are working, it has no counter part
I think this is the beginning, where you start
Water has flushed you well
Your organs have seemed to meet their bail
I didn't know then what I know now
But if you told me then I still would probably frown
Would probably not listen nor put my liquor, shot, or chaser down
There's a reason the limit is 21 and not 18
Here's to starting when I did
and finishing when I do
Mostly to day 14

I’ve drunk enough—
don’t fill my glass again.
All you’ve ever offered,
I’ve gulped down to the grain.
Pleasure’s senses never sate;
for me, they’re just a stain.

I have this body like all others,
a hungry dog
that waits beneath the table
and eats all that falls from it.

Did no one warn you?
Never feed the dog at dinner.
Do it, and he’ll haunt your chair—
whimpering and begging for another taste.

Can’t you see the feast is laid?
Silver platters, crystal bright!
You’re the guest who’s free to taste,
to drink the banquet’s blinding white.

Is it the dog who gets the scraps,
does not care and all devours?
—Exactly!— and once he's finished,
he'll come begging, craving more.

Don’t blame the dog when he invades
your sacred feast.
You shout, you punish his demands,
yet you fed this beast.

Now discern. Divide. Rearrange.
Let each thing keep its name.
The dog in the dog’s domain.
The master at his plate.

The leaflet reads:
“Be mindful of your desires,
be careful
where they come from
and where they’re heading.
Use drive to drive choice.
Be the one who decides
before you join in
and follow along.
Otherwise
the path to your freedom
is then walked down
bare feet and bare mind.
The good ol’ valley of yours.”
Inside your own head, own voice,
while taking a handful.