Valedictorian of the Bottom Feeders - Relapse & Recovery #930006

The bottom is a lonely place to awaken, undesirable and full of misery, topped with a side of suffering. The downward spiral fall happens in the blink of an eye, yet the climb out can last for what feels like a lifetime. This collection captures relapse, chaos, collapse, distant days that become countless, reaching out for help that ever-so-matter-of-factly fell upon both blind eyes and deaf ears simultaneously, miraculously, with ease, each attempt made. The hopelessness, the complete breakdown and collapse of crisis as it unfolds, and the stigma that becomes worn thereafter beyond one's means and expiration.

This is the side of addiction unbeknownst to all but those who suffer firsthand from this affliction. There is no love for the suffering from the sickness, no pity, nor any remorse. The illness gives zero fucks. But make no mistake that every failure is being noted, and the score is being kept. In the absence of presence, those bottom dwellers become the prey to those who are immune to the laughter at the incompetence displayed. The forgetting of equality starts with a judgment passed with soulless emptiness; it is a red wine stain on a freshly white carpet, beyond its contrast, remembering has never been a difficulty. Down here, those not of us feed off of us. We are their posterboards for requesting charity and the butts of their behind-the-closed-doors jokes.

Bottom Feeder is the third book of the freshly named poetry series by Miller titled Destined, but... Intended to be a series that captures the truth and emotion about the ugliness and bitter spitefulness of the world we occupy today, its plagues and descending hopes, especially bringing into the light the corruption of authority and those suffering from addiction. This chapbook is the view from the very bottom, looking up through the glare beaming downwards up the hardened fragility. We want not, lest need not, yet find ourselves still so very indulged in their mindless competition intended to make us crave the desire to keep up with the Joneses down the street.

Woe are we. Guilty as can be. Bloodstained fingers cannot be washed of their toxicity. We murder hope to treasure dope while side-stepping the golden-bricked road to dive down that damned rabbit hole.

Despair, paranoia, defeat, depression, anxiety. These describe the descent to the bottom one endures in their fall.

This short collection of poetry depicts a free-fall from grace and the overwhelming realization that awakens with the hopelessness that swallows them.. It is a sink-or-swim kind of world with no mercy or time for regret. This is a unique portrait painted in the words of experience, the cries of an addict, the pleading for mercy with a merciless God who hit the mute button too long ago. Why can't we just awake to those once-upon-a-time better days? Weaknesses like these make you a walking bullseye.