I pity you in your lost battles
and I hope you find it in your heart
to become better.
And not die smoking your last cigarette,
licking your self-inflicted wounds,
at the bottom of a
40 oz bottle of malt liquor,
you bought by selling your pills.
Because I cannot hate like you do,
I wish you good health.
I cannot host the best pity party
because self-deprecation
is not something I can fake
for likes and notes.
Despite your missing apologies,
your betrayal is forgiven.
Best of luck,
new stranger.
Nice to know your silent danger.