A pill in the morning,
and one before I sleep

Pearly white and motherly,
I like them better than me

I awoke today,
and felt a strange force pulling
at my stomach and tearful soul

Hollow and motherless,
the pills have left my body

Is the side effects the body’s
way of refusing to heal?

Am I swallowing bombs
or chemical kisses?

Will they mother me
and bring back my mind?

Dear my aching body,
I promise you,
this is not another suicide

So be still,
be very still,
and keep the pills down  

Don’t whine
Don’t cuss
Don’t fuss
Don’t resist
Don’t fright
Don’t fight
Don’t cry
Don’t die

This is not a suicide

There used to be butterflies
living inside my chest,

but they turned into bats
when it got dark

The bats fed on my blood,
and my chest was their cave

There used to be orchids
blooming,
flourishing,
above my ears and to my short hair

But now I am dead,
the weeping orchid bled

As it withered upon my grave,
and emitted the scent of death and I

Its decayed petals dropped,
like blood from cut veins

The corpse flower,
scentless bloom of death belongs

My lover’s name is Depression,
and he clings himself to me,
like a ghost that still haunts
its old lover’s house  

I wash off my mouth,
but still taste him

I wrote him endless poems,
but he demands that
I **** myself for him
so he knows it is real

“I don’t want to see you with other people”
he yelled and his face turned blood-red

“I want to engrave my name in your heart”
he said with a knife in hand

“I want to consume you”
he whispered in a flirtatious way

“I want you to disappear with me tonight”
he said as he grabbed me by the hand,
and we disappeared together

A knife
caressing my thighs
to my wrists

A chemical mixture
swallowed down
with a drink

A lover
you’ve never tasted

I looked up at
the starry sky

A lone dying star
has greeted me,

and I promised that
I will see her soon

I cannot utter what
is bothering my soul

Perhaps it is the fire
of my own mind  

The same fire that
kept me warm was
the one to burn me

Or perhaps it is the
unbearable weight of
my sleepless eyelids

For how much longer
do I have to wash my hands?  
                      sleep in the burning house?              
                      carry this heavy heart?
                      weep?
                      bleed?
                      ask for bandages?
                      hide my scars?
                      see my therapist?
                      lose touch?
                      force a smile?
                      see my reflection?
                      try to fix the brokenness?
                      adjust to new meds?
                      wish I was dead?
                      wash my hair?
                      trim my nails?
                      write these lines?
                      avoid my birthday?
                      fight the urges?
                      endure myself?
                      cling to this life?