At birth
they dipped you in vinegar and lemon juice and
left you to dry in the bitter cold.
Shrivelled,
soaked, sore, soon
so still.
Almost spiritual it seemed
as darkness fell.
Soundlessly.
Fierce frightening.
Living, while little,
life’s darker flavours.
So, around you,
stepping carefully,
circumspect and cautious,
when my eyes could not yet breathe,
I felt inside, like yours,
my Faith, at such an early age, already
forsworn, dusty, splintered, disheartened,
finally, unused and abandoned,
expire.
Poetry of Addiction 