Rock Bottom is where you start from
That’s what The Program.
The same twelve steps for everything
From booze to smack to sex to love.
All starting from rock bottom.

Maybe I never hit it.
I read a book by a lady
with the last name of song
and two years of memories spun
cherished keepsakes hurtling
landed like the sick twist of an
unexpected diabolus ex machina.

Affection recast as symptom,
devotion revealed as obsession.
Defense shown as avoidance.
Love swapped out for addiction.

It felt cruel, capricious, ugly beyond measure.
And true, undeniable.  Correct.
Something beautiful, an inner treasure,
had sprung from a poisoned pit in my soul.
I recoiled from it,retreated from it,
wept and swore at the loss
of who I’d thought we were
at knowing too much of where we’d come from.

And no addict gets better chasing their high.
Every junky and drunk knows that much.
So I had to say it, a slow, messy goodbye.
It felt like pulling a tooth:raw-red, bloody
a part of me yanked out, irreplaceable
My mind still runs over the spot, searching
for what it remembers, what feels like
it should still be there. And it still hurts.

Every time.  Every day.  Which maybe means I’m not better.
Or maybe means I still haven’t found rock bottom.