Poem: Our Sober Friend
What’s the point of being sober, he wondered
if you still behave like a narcissistic drunk?
Wouldn’t it be better for everyone, including him, if nothing really changes
He could stay rooted in the toxic swamp that fed him amply, bloating his self-loathing
to inoperable proportions.
He should drink, he should be a drunken diviner of nirvana
and then everything shall be explained in one unified theory:
the why he is this way, unreliable and untrustworthy,
the way we like our alcoholics.
Poison is the hardest habit to kick.