SUMP

by Paul Tristram

What was I thinking?
Up to 20 tall cans a day,
just pouring them down my throat.
Trying to drown something
inside of me or wash it away.
The pain and the aching,
the longing for help and rescue
from something without a name
chewing upon your heart
like a beast with a bone.
The more I drank the tighter it clung,
the weaker I got the stronger it got
and the more ferocious the torture
that came along with it.
You cannot drown the monster
but you can quell it.
It takes a different sort of strength
and determination.
A forging of character
out of the ruins that you have made.
You can build again
bigger and brighter and stronger
than before.
Faith is a weapon
(And I’m not talking about religion!)
far stronger than brute force,
it lasts a Hell of a lot longer, aswell.