Stilled from inactivity,
lying on the bed.
A glass of water at my bedside,
the only reminder
I wasn’t dead.
Its grace in opposition with the person I once was
Unable to touch it,
watch the wavelets dance around
or feel droplets tickle my tongue.
Alcohol, my foe,
Seduced taste buds, numbed limbs,
before I saw the headlights,
ultimately punishing my sins.
Now my body betrays all contact—
marred by stupidity.
A piece of meat left to rot,
until the Grim Reaper prods me along.
So I stare at the glass of water,
weightless and free,
hoping tomorrow is the day
I control my destiny.