Your post of March 10 is brilliant. Thank you.
Thank you. Your song means a lot. I am simply a wannabe poet so what i wrote about my addiction is prose, but it’s how I see the addiction itself. Here it is and God bless you.
My addiction is a BEAST,
a GOLIATH, malevolent and grinning,
with running sores, spilling and dripping.
My Goliath’s a COWARD, a BULLY
that’s penned the noble, unrealized me.
He’s terrifying and wrathful.
Till now I’ve Stockholm-syndromed with him.
My Beast loves his spiked whip of compulsions,
the nastier, the better.
It’s his favorite toy.
He loves to scream and see my wounds,
to cow and ridicule the unrealized me,
to cow and ridicule the fallen me,
told me once in fact
over and over again years back,
I’ll never be a stallion.
At times, the Beast curries the unformed me,
the not-yet-realized noble me,
the half-baked me—an ancient foal—
still gangly and inept and ridiculous at 70+ (!),
vacant and incapable, yet running about full tilt,
kicking back my hindquarters and chasing mares.
They fly away top-speed annoyed and disgusted.
So I go to the brake and kneel,
alone with my thoughts and pictures of mares,
with my sadness and my vacancy,
my shame and self-loathing, my anger, pride, and sloth.
All the while, the Beast is chortling,
scheming for what’s to come
never banking on an unrealized me.