Captain High Noon

I was born with restless feet
and a bottle hidden in my shadow.
Every road I walked
was just another way of leaving myself behind.

Call me a native son 
of dust, of driftwood, of bad decisions,
of the places you end up
when you’re running from what’s in your blood.

I drank like the earth owed me silence.
I drank like memories were debts
I could drown before they came collecting.

But the truth is simple and merciless:
you can’t outrun a thirst
that lives in your bones.

And every mile I put between me
and the man I wanted to be
only made the bottle easier to reach
when the nights grew long.

Still, somewhere past the last bar light,
past the guilt, past the noise,
I felt something shift.
a quiet rebellion building in my chest.

Maybe I’m still lost,
but I’m done being a native son
to the ruins I built myself.
If there’s a road home,
I’ll take it sober.

One step,
then another.