My disease paid a discourtesy call on my bourgeoning sobriety. Peeked in to look for cracks in my foundation; weaknesses to exploit. I recognized the patch job I had toyed with would have made the easiest of targets for this eroding thug. I am ever so grateful that I cleaned off all the bricks and made new mortar. Built on bedrock my re-laid block will withstand the indignity of the pounding, prodding sickness which use to inhabit this once dilapidated space. I can keep the villain at bay and live my cozy life thanks to a true level and the handsome turn of my trough.
Personal knowledge is not the same as group knowledge
I stand behind the podium
And talk about the event horizon
Which brought me into these rooms.
My audience, other unwitting astronauts,
Whose lives, like mine were deconstructed
By the Black Hole of addiction
Though the time and place may be different
The physics of compulsion and allergy
Are precise and repetitive
Nodding heads affirm my calculations
To be accurate with the vectors
And trajectories of their own experience
I conclude, with the gratitude of a reassembled life
And pray, with gravity
For my feet to stay on the ground.