It’s the pills and the bottle
that kills you
without death
sometimes your mind needs them
till you heal and you realise
that you have killed apart of yourself
sometimes it dies forever
and you never know who you are
even cheerful people **** parts
of themselves to survive
It’s the pills and the bottle
that kills you
without death
two pills twice a day
a mind ******
and a bottle taken
without control

sometimes doctors know best
sometimes a part death
is better than any upgrade
Maybe some people have to revisit
tiny deaths till the living parts
make more sense

Sometimes
A poem is the first hand extended
when the self is confused
and help
well it’s just a voice away