Been a while since I took them, the little keys to sleep. Unlock codes for unconsciousness, cheat codes for non-committal death.
But tonight the pain is unbearable, the mental wounds are bleeding like they’re fresh. Scenes replaying in my mind constantly, mocking me mercilessly for believing that they’d left.
Time is supposed to be a healer, or so I’ve been told. Time must have missed me off it’s to-do list because healing is a card I’ve never been dealt.
The pain is effervescent bubbling through my veins and laying heavy on my chest. Tramadol couldn’t even dull it, it demands to be felt.
My only recourse are these tiny promises of temporary respite; I take more than recommended, playing roulette with this life.
It’s been a while since I took them, the little keys to sleep, I wish I could leave them but I’m weak.