Angelica Tao Poet Rhyme

My Old Self Will Carry Me Through

I feel a breeze missing from my recovery. 

I wonder if my past is actually woven with discoveries. 

I sometimes wish I could be weary with hope. 

And not have to take my daily antidote. 

All those memories from so many weeks ago-

Were unraveled like my blankets in my throes. 

Is that another inhibition?

Is that the real, old me in this restoration? 

The delusions that seemed as strong as oak. 

Were chipped away as my passion broke. 

I guess I can escape into depression. 

So that my delusions do not happen again.

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