Grace I don’t deserve.

The relief comes like a bruise cooling,
pain easing but still alive.
My hands stop shaking,
my thoughts finally sit down.
For a breath or two,
the craving loosens its teeth
and I pretend this quiet is peace.

But the calm is heavy,
thick with knowing.
I feel tomorrow watching me,
tapping its bill on my chest.
This isn’t healing—it’s hiding.
Still, I sink into it,
grateful for the numbness,
hating myself for needing it,
and loving the silence
just long enough to break again.