# insanity # alcoholism # recovery

The Way Out

Black, yellow, purple--

My arms are a collage of color,

the highway of veins potholed from all the punctures;

this isn't a junkie nightmare

but a journey to healing.

The road to being well is fraught with obstacles--

--piss, shit, sweat, blood, vomit, etc.--

but it's one I've traversed many times,

the map of it seared into my addled brain.

Yet, the fog has lifted,

my vision cleared,

the destination in sight on the horizon,

shimmering like a mirage,

but I've been there before--

it is an oasis in this desert of despair,

where the healing waters of life flow freely,

available to those willing to make the journey

in pure and humble earnestness.

"Faith without works is dead," it's said,

so onwards my bloodied feet trudge,

forward towards my oasis, my solution,

back to my tribe.