I race against the bitterness.
I’m just ahead –
I’ve grown to recognise – yet
I’m still quite prone to it.
It’s easier sometimes, I guess,
not to keep the darkness in check.
It’s wiser to observe, I know,
I’ve done this too, many times before.
But drink, and this shall be the key,
it makes me strong but leaves me weak.
I’ll build again a resevoir,
then pull the plug as oft before.
I’ve tried, I’ll try, and conjure on.
Till death – the parting,
and my swan song.