Those little orange bottles,
Who drown the bedside table.
A melting *** of colors and shapes,
I obviously am not stable.

Only a few,
Was all mom ever knew,
Before I went to sleep.
She soon found me,
Covered in *****,
Passed out in a bundle of sheets.

Oh, how rude.
I am being so vile.
I really haven't talked about this,
In quite the longest while.

Maybe I need more pills.
More pills to 'help' me survive.
More therapy,
More pity.
Oh, no thank you,
I'll be fine.