I used to do a lot of hard drugs before I met my wife. Meth, crack, coke, E, whatever I could get my hands on. She helped me clean up. We had kids together... 5 kids... 2 girls and 3 boys... 11 years sober—together. When I’m alone, I think about the drugs. When I’m alone, I think about how to make it all go away. I’m not good at this. I want to go home, but I can’t. We argued and the police took me away. Counselors are trying to help but it is just empty words. Pep talks to a dead spirit. Once upon a time I was fearless of solitude—less heads on my pipe. Less stomaches eating my pills. Less of them, more for me. I’ve changed, I didn’t realize how much until now—alone... the cravings are back like an ancient conflict between tribes. As if a treaty was broken and now they’re infiltrating my lands. Like scouts seeking weakness in my village, they’re hunting me. And I’m defenseless—alone... My weapon is broke. My wall is torn down. The gate stands open. Together is gone. I pray for mercy, I seek grace. The ambush is there, it seeks me—alone.