It’s Behind Me, Isn’t It?
A poem on addiction and trauma
It’s another one of those days
There’s an itching at my neck
A temptation that gets in the way
An addiction hand delivered with a blank check
I seldom look in my rear view mirror
I try to keep my eyes moving forward
For the reflections are always closer than they appear
Headlights that spent their whole life in torture
Those eyes are blinding
Filled with ceaseless horrors
Tempting a deeper mining
Secrets shining through darkened showers
Each swipe across the windshield
Brings with it a bitter chill
Clouding the mind and all I feel
Fearing the presence of an evil thrill
There’s something that’s been bothering me
Ever since I emptied the last vice
It’s presence clear in all I see
Picking at my brain and making me think twice
I can’t turn around
Or look in my rearview mirror
But I need someone to help me out
For I can’t avoid this feeling any longer
Bring a weapon
Preferably something with heat
For there’s a dangerous presence
And I think it rests in the back seat
