Up the Mountain

P1010622

I climb. Boots landing soft
on slick rocks. I breathe in mossy air
and gin pours forth from my forehead

I repent for last night, atone
with every crunching step up
hill rising unrelenting

I will be good. Forgive me,
the wine seeping in rivulets
along my wrists.

Let the sugar toxic drain from these
cell walls. Let me be done.
Let the mountain punish.

 

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