at what point, between my addiction and my recovery,
did my glorious team of white stallions,
pulling the weight of an ordain and luxurious carriage,
become a combination of crossbred white ponies,
stuck in the mud, as a stroll to release the weight
that comes from dragging a broken-axle paddy wagon?

for myself, the beast I rode was far more
then a gracious and powerful creature.
but less than a creature, and more an entity;
my horse, was a dangerously, powerful, entity.

unengaged from people and places,
I've been clean, I peer at myself
through the hazy, muddied waters,
almost a decade of painful reflection,
I pale in comparison to who I once was.

paint liquor — used to re-invent a fourth wheel,
to cover in eccentricity and whimsicality,
a glorified trailer with sitting room, lies on its side
overturned — drips of custom, view-mixing,
mind-altering, belief- changing, idea-warping colors
deep into the riders trapped within the overturned buggy.

an idea is planted, by that un-creature,
that entity. that belief. that principle.
a most profound sobriety allows an unseen perspective, to sprout from an unseen eye
scratching it's way to the surface, just out of sight .

why?
less misplaced prejudice; more support & progressive attitudes.
less hypocritical judgement; more love & positivity

the riders, now having lost their sight, as a result,
of having looking aquittingly down their noses, un-
blind eyes in the past, scarred by years of hypocrisy,
reach the same conclusion as I.

when did the "magic" leave
that team of traumatized white horses,
stranded, to find themselves again?
why is it socially...