For the alcoholic in all our lives 

Even here in the warmth
And moist baked-bread scent of home
The rancid creeping tendrils
Encroach from that wrecked life.
A portal opens
A peep-hole;
I see you now
But in the seeing mourn
The stranger I thought I knew.
Worthless words
Forming exclamation bubbles
Over an ingenuous smile,
“I am sober now.”
Sure.
Like all the times before.

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