Alchemy

Addiction is a quiet thief, It doesn’t scream, it sips belief. It laced my gifts with bitter wine, And turned my muse to Frankenstein.

I lost a love I once believed
Was stitched into the seams of me.
Not just a person, but the dream
The firelight inside my grief.

She left like smoke, no final word,
Just drifting silence, raw and blurred.
And I, the shell, the haunted room,
Was left to wrestle with the gloom.

I reached for art with trembling hands,
To draw the hurt, to shape the sand.
Painted pain in broken rhyme,
Cooked redemption out of time.

But still, the bottle called my name,
Its whisper soft, its promise flame.
And though I knew the end it led,
I craved the hush inside my head.

Addiction is a quiet thief
It doesn’t scream, it sips belief.
It laced my gifts with bitter wine,
And turned my muse to Frankenstein.

But even ruin has its dawn,
A crack where light and breath are drawn.
In ashes, yes, I found the seed,
A truth more potent than my need.

I saw my hands not as a curse
But vessels that could serve, reverse.
They built again with sobered care,
A life of roots, of love laid bare.

I healed not fast, and not through force
But slowly, like a river's course.
I stitched the breaks with scarred intent,
Each moment honest, each day spent.

Now when I create, it comes from scars
A galaxy of quiet wars.
And though I lost what once was dear,
I found myself still standing here.

This is not triumph, nor a plea
It’s just the shape recovery
Takes when the spirit dares to mend,
And makes the pain its oldest friend.

So let me burn, but not in vain
Each ember turned to art from pain.
For love may leave, and dreams may fall,
But healing, healing holds it all.