In that dream where I was drinking I could smell it, juicy red wine, and the smell was so real it’s like a part of me was actually drinking again and another part was thinking stop!

but my whole face was stuck inside the glass, it’s all I could see, I wasn’t drinking as much as guzzling, the whole sensory experience where you taste and smell and breathe it in

and remembering that as I got up I wondered was it even my hand holding the glass or someone else’s, like was I being forced, but there was no hand in the dream, only me.

Categories: Addiction, Poetry

Tags: poem, Poetry, prose, recovery, sober October