I am broken. Recovery is not mine. Each gentle, hesitant step I take forward is marred by the chains I am bound to. I can never be free to soar the clouds again; I must struggle on the ground, carrying the weight of the cold metal chains, that rub my wrists, drawing sad droplets of blood, running into scars of days gone by.
I am broken, every step forward, the chains become heavier and I become ever weary. My pace becomes slower and eventually I stand. Breaths come and go, I search for ways out of the chains, ways to sooth my wounds and soften my despair. The chains are cold and unforgiving. I sink to my knees, and cast my eyes to the sky, I watch it darken, and pray for the light.