THROUGH THE FOG The handful of pills I hold Offer the promise of freedom An escape from the pains That continually haunt me. They speak to me softly With sensual voice Of the release contained therein. Whispers of an alluring sound Cut through my coherent thoughts Singing songs of a peaceful death. I wrap my hand around the bottle I’ll use to wash them down The reek of rum filling my nose Telling me of the numbness it will provide. I swallow the pills one by one In my final act of desperation When a haunting cry breaks through the fog That is the despair I feel. The voice is small But has the power of giants And I stop in mid-swallow The final pill melting on my tongue. It is the voice of a child I hear The voice of my daughter. My hand wavers, trembles slightly No longer reaching for the bottle But for the phone. I dial 911.