Hope for Recovery

My head filled with thoughts, like an overflowing bathtub
A constant war between me and I 
Ghost town; no where to call home,
looking at that pipe; maybe it’ll help me escape

But that yellow is temporary,
left with a broken mirror and drops falling into my lap

The man on the street every night with the caved in cheekbones,
a beggar - they call him

I see someone hurt, lost and in need
Walking up the icy stairs, 
I notice my shaky hands jiggling the keys to open the door

As I walk through the door and see my family sitting at the dinner table, the smell of dinner entering my nostrils
I think I am so thankful my shakes are now only from the cold