Twelve Steps

Red raw and indignant like a wet baby, I shuffle to the front of the room.

The eyes that bore into me sense my shame at simply being and taunt my every step.

There's no redemption up there, only more looks and more recrimination from the peanut gallery.

They want a story. They want me splayed and supine before them. They need my agony and remorse to show.

They need it because otherwise their agony is invalidated and their remorse is self delusion.

Unspoken agreements have been reached between these lost and useless souls.

Let's talk about anything so that we won't have to talk about THAT thing.

But it doesn't work.

The beast is here among us. He tears at the parts you can't see. The parts that made us who we were before we drifted away like so much detritus.

What do I say to them?

What do I say to them when all I want is a drink and a dark room?

Lies again I suppose...