Anew Again

The first day of sobriety sweeps me up in its embrace to shove my face in the supposed gullible idiocy that this time will be any different,
and I wave this third, fourth, fifth, who cares, final goodbye to confidence bolstered by intoxicating toxins manipulating my self-awareness.
When I look back at the heartbreak that birthed this blowhard,
I balk-barf at the smattering of smothering feels,
buried beneath this bile, thoughts which now bubble to the surface to be contemplated.
Five or six or seven months ago,
oh how funny that I couldn’t even tell you the date of the apocalypse,
blacked out blubbering bulimic blockhead,
binges to barfings as I bawl fall crawl unhinged scarfing up numbing agents,
to kill this sorrow I know can’t be killed,
on borrowed time I put off the inevitable avalanche,
for the first time deliberately frying the nerves I so foolishly allowed to regrow,
I broke the rest of me
to match the heart of me.
And it was such a twisted tangled joy to bend over backwards into the bitterness,
but I have come so far I couldn’t tell you what was legitimate,
except that those windows through which light would once in awhile shine,
are growing bigger,
and the ocean beyond is one in which I want to drown,
embraced by its depth,
washed of this wishy-washy whatever,
no longer will I self-medicate to mediate the disagreements between my holy self and this apostate,
there’ll be one me…
…but who is he?