This, Old Friend

The person I was
The person I am
The person I want to be
I cannot be free of it

I sit, I stew, I clench my fists
I break my bones
I sit on a throne of my own demise
I lord over all I see:
nothing
I am master on my long lost plot
A piece of mind too unkind
I trap myself in
There is no running, no escaping

I cannot think
I do not wish to
I silently scream and run without moving
It is easier this way
Another sip, another drink, another day
Slip, drip, dropping way
I reach out to cease it before it falls
But it’s gone.
I was done with it, I thought
I was reborn better, I knew
But I’m back again, again
Familiar and willing to forget

To drag myself up
Back up that hill
To be me
To want nothing
Feel the strength in my back
Let the evil flow away like rain
Fill my nostrils with air that becomes breath
Clinch my fists
To stand, to be whole
To understand
at last,
Forever

benoit-3

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