#rehabilitation
losing a year to the things I now fear, the type of things that make murky water look clear. The things that relieved me, for a short period of time, are the same things that made me feel like I was losing my mind. the things that tended to numb, my achy little pains, the things that made me personalized shackles and chains. If I had been asked my name, I'd say I forgot. These things are addictive, so try not to get caught. caught in the cycle of using bad things, because addiction is painful and is caused by these things
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 5:43 PM UTC
Night falls without word
Of man nor word from thee
To me,
We have differing views
On contact you and I,
Contact between partners,
Contact between friends,
Conversation about what passes
Betwixt each of us
And any other,
Although you're prompt
To interrogate about clients
Which I understand given
Our past,
But as partners we have
Yet to settle on a path that
Permits us easy conversation
On anything and anyone,
And that loving trust
To which I for one do yet aspire
And we for two do need,
But we shall get there because
I shall not balk at the
Difficult subjects,
Nor turn away lest your
Rage arise again for
If it does then it must and
Its every demise will draw us
Closer
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 4:17 PM UTC
Eight years ago, foggily I awoke from a 40-day deep, deep deep, sleep,
Seven times I've donned the sackcloth, which may continue seventy times seven in acceptance of my new reality.
Six years of gratitude redirected my heavy heart and thoughts, reframing and good perspective keep --
Five rehabilitation programs, cross-country, helped regain vital functionality, to commence:
Four years of post-graduate study in counselling and chaplaincy, processing grief, re-skilling, and growing more confidently,
despite my
Three-second memory retention, slowly but surely, my amazing brain rewired grey space. My
Two eyes, after several surgeries, still view life in fragments, hoping to be restored by the
One Almighty God, who has blessed me with life, I stand in awe of His grace.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 9:55 PM UTC
Nothing hurts when I'm alone,
As I drink the sweet poison
That empties my mind.
How unkind,
This substance can feel
So fresh and fine,
Without a thought to mind.
As I run for fun,
Through streets of unknown,
Not knowing who the ones are
Vibrating my phone,
As they text and call me
To come back home.
A smile creeps on my face,
As i'm restless and dazed,
In a hypnotic haze,
For one can only suffer
The very next day.
But alas,
The day has come,
And I for one
Awoken by a
Frosted memory,
Of one late night,
Turned into a horror sight.
Was I there?
As I meekly glare
At the ones who care,
Standing before me,
Beginning to stare.
I hear silence in the air.
Not one feeling I remember,
Not one feeling I forget.
I wake up in a cold sweat
Of utter guilt and regret.
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 3:31 PM UTC
I am doing so much better without you by my side
And that breaks my heart.
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
I woke up to screams from a stolen razor.
Where is it?
It was a loud scream.
The end comes swiftly,
anyway,
and,
if there are no razors around,
it comes even faster.
At the top of the mountain,
the anger flows to the valley,
and there is no scream.
In the valley, we wait.
There is a pull from a cigarette.
Small talk that is not small talk.
A man wheezes
A woman wonders where she'll go tomorrow
it comes out as a laugh
and lightly in the background plays a song that can only be called the disease of the 80's.
We didn't need another.
But, thank you.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
the holes in your soul are
filled by the tears that fell
for lessons learned long ago.
the body’s basic desire for healing
creates a hammock for new hearts
craving to become full.
you stand here, now
cleansed by the fires
of a hell that you didn’t ask for —
burning with the best of us.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
it takes
a special kind of
self loathing
to reach for a
bottle
as your eyes are
opening
to begin
the process of
poisoning yourself
as darkness
dissipates
blind to the orange
explosion
the yellow and red hues
now encapsulating
the sky
the warmth
and radiance of
The Sun
as its rays
blanket my world--
a sensation I willingly
betray
a sense of happiness I consciously
ignore
as I sit in my
dark room
Shot
After
Shot
trying to (literally)
d r o w n
my sorrows
that creep up
behind closed eyes
unleashing upon my
mind as lids part
running rather than
fighting
choosing to sink
when I could be
swimming
The Sun is high
encouraging plants to dance
and animals to wake
and yet I wither
in an enclosed space
my roommate returns
from an overnight shift
to find me
intoxicated
inebriated
vomiting
in bed
the day is beginning
but my life
feels over.
When will I finally see the light?
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 11:17 AM UTC
Faded stains of spilled bourbon
dot the weathered nightstand’s surface
like stars speckle a clear midnight sky
Each commemorates a prop of courage
swigged to help forge another day
Bras, slips, heels and flats
pepper the soiled carpet
reflections of the many
nightly transgressions now
impediments which fleck her soul
Her frontal lobe
harbors distortions
from her past
forgiven by those who know her
forgotten by others
Rain pelts her window
rat-tat, rat-tats against the panes
compulsively splatters the door
flings open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
any trace of her anguish
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
The problem perhaps is that prisons
have doors,
should people not be pushed through
the bars instead
the tainted parts of the soul strained out
the clean locked in with you
Sentences served would have meaning then
to learn to live with the parts of you
that are pure
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
On my way to rehab
Just one more short day
Till i have to say goodbye
Till i have to go away
Till i have to start a promise
That i know i shouldnt have made.
I promised I'd be better
But that's not as easy as said
I wish it didnt get this bad
I wish that it was better
I wish that I could move on like her
I wish I never m....
No. Thats not true.
I know I'm glad I met you
So I could ****** challenge myself
Trying not to mean that I regret you
And no, I'm not starting over
Consider this a step two
You took my life and ran with it
And I mother ****** let you
I'm glad I couldn't have kept you
Permanent damage, written in red too
I know you're probably sick of me
But I still hope the world will bless you
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
I feel sober
or am I sore?
I just don't want
to hurt You anymore
it's no surprise
I'm used to the motions now
how I go on a binge
and end up anyhow
then I sober up for a while
till the cravings return
till I need another shot
till I crank up and burn
Dear Lord, I really don't
want to hurt You anymore
please help me to heal
and stay sober, not sore.
Amen
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn
His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him
As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury
But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home
He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway
Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes
Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned feet
He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death
The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey
Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe
But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways
Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night
But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness
He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light
His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers
He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself
Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Challenges punctuate our lives with question marks.
We ask ourselves, “How long?” So we dream.
We wonder about each other. So we believe.
We concern ourselves with each other’s welfare. So we pray.
We doubt our wisdom. So we trust our hearts.
We second guess ourselves. So we act in faith.
We question our tomorrow. So we cherish the present.
We fear the question marks that have punctuated our lives.
So we build walls;
Walls to hide from our fear, walls to hide from our frustration,
And walls to hide from our feelings.
Let us never build walls that would cut us off from the world,
Or from each other.
Within the circle of our fellow strugglers,
Our thoughts are punctuated with fewer question marks,
And from time to time - a simple period.
Here with each other, it's not as difficult to wait for the answer.
And the walls don't seem as challenging to climb.
Whatever our question,
We can dare each other to dream.
And in this time of testing, we can hope for the answer,
An answer that will be different for every one of us.
An answer that punctuates each of our lives
With an exclamation point!
©2014 Michael S. Davis
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC