Poem | sobriety

Crossroads are

a boring metaphor

when after making

so many of the same

wrong and right decision

Repeating; all leading back

to the same

place.

Crossroads.

If the world was ending,

I’d want to be

alone.

And I’d sooner carry

broken shards of glass

in my skin, if ever they

reflected something

poignant.

Pleasures which run away with you

Only to run away from you

the moment

they’ve got

you.

And the pleasure that loses you

as soon as you lose yourself

to it - is what I can

no longer let

myself live

for.

The decision, without

indecision, to

reject hell.

itself

For the condition; tempted

by the acceptance of

fleeting godless

pleasure.

To look past immediacy,

where subsistence to

servitude grows less

seductive, and the

calm, I trust

will come

No more.

No more.

No more,

Crossroads.

….