Letters to Her #2

So many poems, the ramblings of a suicidal, drug-driven, unstable brain

The vicious, relentless, but hollow, futile, fights against the chain

Whispers of catharsis and solidarity that may have kept me alive or may have been in vain

And then something happened, I got help, I got clean, I got sane

I found my peace, but in it, I lost my art

I could pick up a pen, but levelheaded, I didn’t know where to start

There was nothing inside to get out, nothing inside of my chest about to tear it apart

But then, you stepped in, the last thing I needed to guide my hand, open my eyes and thaw my heart

Friends is all we are, and that’s okay

But we met, and I wrote a poem the next day

So, here’s a thank you, though I don’t know how to say

You led an artist back who, by sanity, was led astray