They were drunk while I was sober.
Now they stare at me as if I’m the one stumbling.
It looks different when you’ve waited for the world to grow up around you.

I watched decades of recklessness spill across the floor.
They sucked all you can drink “freedom” like a slurpee until their brains froze.
Until they begged for mom and dad,
until they crawled back into order.

I stayed sober.
I picked bills off the barroom floor.
I denied sloppy kisses and burritos at 3 a.m.
I was God’s man, who never read a scripture.
I kept the vision.
I went all in before they played a single hand.

Now I’m the intoxicated one.
And sober would be a compliment for you.
I can’t want what you want.
It was never in my blood.

I laugh, because I thought I’d come around—
just as I thought you would.
But as soon as you peeked your head around the corner,
I was gone.

I’m wash up on a deserted island,
screaming at the gods,
tripping over myself, laughing.

Thank you for the years.
For the lessons.
For reminding me I only ever wanted the long game.
Not immediacy. Not verification. Not you.

If any of you dare,
up the ante.

I’ve always been all in.