Wore a waist trainer,
relapsed again,
thinking a device could help me
shed unwanted skin,
buckled underneath the pressure
of this anxious whim,
don't need to be who they wish,
accept me as I am;

Drank a pill,
relapsed again,
chemicals can save,
keep me in a productive stupor,
a muted daze,
lull me into believing
this is the only way,
to prevent the flood
of feelings I can't navigate;

Drank a bottle,
relapsed again,
sweet, soft, red-wine,
alone, I felt the familiar,
steady, wished for decline,
lost in my sadness,
in my thoughts confined,
deepest fears confirmed,
hopeful peace denied;

I write these words,
recovery, gotta find a way,
to believe in the something
I wake up for each day,
a higher power,
guide me out of the gray,
help me remember
what I feel when I self-betray,
my battlefield a war-zone in disarray,
save the weary, tired pieces
of what's left of me.

Emily C. Poésie © 2018

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