words spill from the woman's lips,
but I cannot hear a thing.
my mother sits across the room,
nodding as if pleased with this verdict.
more medication.
more artificial happiness.
less control.
that's all I want. control.
something I know I will never have but need nonetheless.
this woman speaks the names of many, many drugs that she attempts to combine.
an artist of intoxication,
she mixes chemicals as if preparing to paint a picture,
but this picture must cover up the old masterpiece,
something so worn and faded
it must be replaced.
for how could anyone love
the crumbling portrait of a once
beautiful girl.

She sits outside, alone,
waiting for him to return.
Hours pass as she anxiously
checks her surroundings
for his familiar face.
The wind in the trees rustles
thousands of aging leaves,
producing a deafening sound
that fills the crisp autumn air.
She calls his name, again and again,
each time with less and less hope for his arrival.
Soon it is dusk, and although she wants to stay, she knows no one will come for her.
As the sunlight recedes over the treetops and shadows cover the ground, she faces her fear and
flies away.

Perseverance is fleeting; there are times when
failure overwhelms all senses
and seeps into your thoughts like
black ink upon fibrous paper.

It taints your perspective on the world
and targets your weakest points
to fuel the negativity and self-doubt, leaving
nothing but hatred toward your own mind.

We all experience this at some point in our lives,
but some people must face this beast
time and time again, always expected
to recover for the sake of others' reassurance.

Escaping the sorrow may seem unfeasible;
broken wills may seem irreparable;
the prospect of recovery may seem preposterous
and hope might feel lost.

When you believe that life's purpose is sinister
and that continuing on is a punishment to be feared,
just remember that perseverance is fleeting;
but you've made it this far.

Over the crack in the pavement I walk, four more steps, again.

Carefully scanning every familiar environment for threats; they are all around me.

Devils inside whisper gruesome thoughts that poison my mind and fray my nerves.  

Insecurities plague my body, demanding to be acknowledged and obeyed.

Scratches appear on my arms; deep trenches from last night’s terrors.  

Maybe I forgot to vacuum… or check for locked doors…  

Yelling erupts inside my head, I need to go back to reassure these persistent voices.

Moving towards the wall, I give four taps; this will silence them for now.

Overwhelmed again, this time my mouth starts to count aloud: one, two, three, four; an endless loop.

Needless washing all day- dry, aching hands scrub again and again, then reach for more soap.  

Sacrifices are made faithfully, I lose more of my passions and friends as this hellish nightmare continues.  

Time flies as I organize… three hours to make the bed and straighten the lines on my uneven comforter.  

Every routine is completed to agonizing perfection; all are followed until the next day when I  

Repeat.