The trail you blazed was a well-worn path.

Narcissistic heroics,

with one eye on posterity.

Until the time rolled around to reverse

into the antithesis of what you once

so convincingly pretended to be: stripped

of the trappings of excess, climbing

the twelve steps on the ladder to success.

Sober up, straighten out, settle down

and become what you always wanted to be –

a clean-living family man.

That was the plan,

and it worked out perfectly.

An artist over-appreciated in his lifetime,

who threw himself a lifeline

of excess. Sheer force of vanity

kept you going; self-immolation

in the interest of self-preservation.

A smart career move:

You got it all out of your system, knowing

you weren’t in it for the long haul,

and found that underneath it all,

you were just a regular creative joe,

who used to claim that he couldn’t say no.

While others took a stand, you showed your hand,

reaping the rewards of self-destruction

as reconstruction, making mountains

out of your stumbling blocks.

A prince of redundant darkness,

chipping every nickel out of that rock.

A smug survivor, without a damaged liver,

satisfying a luxurious affliction

from a position of responsibility.

It wouldn’t be worth it

if you couldn’t do it publicly.