Poem.

standing on the edge,
I can feel the heat from outside,
yet the world I'm in is alone and cold,
my mind is so empty,
my skin so white,
I'd give away all my belongings,
just to breathe true air,
the green far beyond my reach,
steel screen preventing freshness,
the hole I am stuck in,
is so damp and dirty.
I can't walk three steps,
without eyes peering out,
and observing my every move,
my every breath,
I am caught in the web of my own life,
tormenting thoughts,
racing through my mind,
every second I am awake,
I've been swallowing artificial happiness,
artificial health,
to replace all I have lost,
if not for slop on a plate,
I would all together starve,
warnings run all day,
and i can hear the others scream,
in here it's one struggle,
just to live again.

by ~rebekah-cider-agogo

This poem reminds me of the hole I lived in before my recovery from drug addiction. My poison of choice had been Heroine. I had been slowly killing myself for almost 15years, and have been clean for nearly 3 now. I am picking up where I left off, got my GED, taking some college courses; I want to be a nurse or something that will let me help others who are stuck in their own holes. I want to be that hand they grab onto to lift themselves up and out into the light.