I remember it,
it was a warm Tuesday evening
and we were stumbling to the bus stop
that stood on the side
of the busy town centre street,
she was being herself,
telling me how terrible
I am
and how she hates every inch of me,
then she leaned in to kiss me;
this would happen nearly every day
but that warm Tuesday evening,
something clicked;
I took the anger I had felt for so long
and painted it on her body
with bruises
shades of purple,
yellows and blues;
she left me the next day
for a pretty boy she had met
a few days earlier;
we were never going to work;
she was crazy
and I was crazy for her;
that 'love' did not bring me joy
and hope,
it brought me suicidal thoughts
and hard liquor;
I still remember it,
the day I broke into a million
tiny little pieces;
I still find myself searching
for those pieces
and it kills me every time
I realise I can never get them back;
but I am trying
to re-build myself
with the little pieces
I managed to cling on to
in the shock of the fall

Everyday, i look at the scale and pray
That the number has gone down
Because i don't know how much longer i can hate myself
With such vicious passion

Jagged little pill
smooth little pill
soft little pill-
           fill my head with cotton
                 but make everything clearer.

Square little pill
round little pill
oval little pill-
           paint the world in shades of binary
                 a collection of dualities
                       a simplification of choices.

White little pill
brown little pill
orange little pill-
           fuel the fire inside my belly
                 but exhaust me
                       take away my hunger for life
                             outside of the lines you have drawn.

Nexium
Jarro-Dophilus
Aderall-
           of all the little pills every morning
                 the ones the doctors prescribe and question
                       the ones I am never sure if I can feel
                             the ones whose effects are dubious and enigmatic
                                   you are the most quantifiable, and the only one
                                         with whom my relationship is Daedalean.

my hands are shaking
my bottom lip is trembling
and I stand,
like the rocks that await
to be hit by the sea,
I raise a fist and take it to
my own left upper-arm,
it hurts a little
but not enough,
I do it again,
raising my right fist
and striking it against
my other arm,
this time it hurt a lot more,
but I'm still not satisfied,
I hit and I hit
for around twenty minutes
until my arm is all kinds of colours;
blue, purple, yellow,
I am covered in bruises;
I am crying now and my vision
is blurred;
I pick up the phone and listen
to the voicemail you left for me
when I was too drunk to say my own name,
and I lie down on the floor
trying to remember
how your lips moved
when you spoke your words of hate
and how your eyes would always fill with tears
when you saw me take the bottle to my mouth