The blur of my indiscretions shorn away,
Lucidity doesn’t level but lowers
My prospects, thus interrupted, now they
Are directed to one frailer; cowers
The heart, this lovely young woman laid out,
Sylphlike and deranged, bruised red dot welts shout.
I start to seethe, the tentacles of my
Addiction I’ve done very little to fight;
Its tenacity to maraud, rob, ply
Innocence; this pure angelic invite.
God help me! if it is not me to spare,
Give me the strength to save her from this snare!
Gary Edward Geraci