Recovery Song

Dear friends.

This morning
I cut myself
shaving.

A canal
of blood
drifted from
my chin.

I let it
clot,
heal gently.

A miracle
in the
bathroom
mirror.

There were
other
times,
after the drugs
and the damned
had left.

When
self loathing
gripped,
led me
by the hand
through to
the kitchen
drawer.

I’d stand,
sweating,
naked.

A reflection
in the just
before dawn
window.

A knife
stroking
my heart,
my throat.

My shrivelled cock.

That I never
sliced myself
to death
may have been
a case of vanity,
or divine
intervention.

Maybe,
I wanted
more
oblivion.

It all seems
a while
back now.

Friends.

You know,
I’ve not much
of a voice,
but I’ll always
sing my tune.

Help me
higher power.

One
day
at
a
time.

Until
I’m buried
and
real
real
gone.

Because the
only thing
I'll ever
have.

Is this
here
recovery
song.