by Eileen Goldenberg

Created on: September 05, 2009   Last Updated: September 07, 2009

Too Late For an Intervention

You sink to the floor

Clutching your bottle

Filled with abandoned dreams.

You traded them in

For a centuries old demon.

You are falling apart at the seams.

You fool yourself thinking

Your crazy quilt life

Is one that can always be mended.

When loved ones berate you

Though you know they don't hate you,

You try to act oh so offended.

The love you once owned

For yourself and your family

Is merely a stain on the floor.

So now that's all they know,

And now that's all they feel-

But you just love the alcohol more.

Your disease makes the choice.

So that you have no voice-

It says " Love ME more, more than your mother"

"I make you feel good"

"I make you happy"

"Much more than your father, your brother!"

And you think about destiny,

And struggle against it.

You're becoming a thing that's not you.

You're a slave to the passion

A slave to the poison.

No end for this sweet Pas de Deux.

The drink helps you go on

The love helps you live on.

But good turns to bad and must end.

No matter how caring.

And so understanding

There are things they cannot comprehend.

So now curl up and cry,

And they''ll pray your goodbye,

Drink the last of your dangerous nectar.

It is too late to act.

They must live with the fact

That you were a living defector.

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