Little blue pills down the hatch,
I follow in the footsteps of my mother.
Pondering if this is what repetition feels like
whether this is what consistency looks like
tablets made up of milligrams I pay no attention to.

The irritation stems from my hands-
it's hard to feel things when numbing the pain
is all you have ever seem to do.

I mask this urgent sense of complacency
with illness that doesn't exist
to avoid any sense of responsibility that comes my way.
Pretty sure they call this mush-faking.
Just another part of an endless discourse
that I would love to see myself separate from
but it is etched into the lining of my genes
and it seems I have been losing a lot of weight
so these genes are the only that fit now.
Now destined to follow suit of my parents.

They are, as I am-
two people who make up what becomes of me
I am scared I am too much like them both
and not enough like me-
because these hands reach out to substance
the abuse part comes after.

When the pain starts to go away
and sanity seems formidable
achievable
something within reach-
all I have to do is find a bottle.
But pills are poison don't ya know?
So I move to the more socially acceptable addiction
the one you can find in a 12 pack at the store
or the one you can chase
with your favorite beverage
make it seem a little less toxic
because making yourself feel better
seems to be taboo.
Emotional instability is the new fab
and everyone seems to be following the trend.

Little white pills down the hatch
so I am not mimicking the behavior of my father.
To crush all the eggshells I throw out for others
so their feet don't rip upon impact.
My encounter is counter-intuitive
and also counter productive.
I try to make it less of the latter
but seems these eyes know me all too well.
They are red from over exposure
and tired from pressure they're under-
the invalidation painted upon your eyelids
with heavy words and absent thoughts.

You become defensive
I do the same.
You can't fight fire with fire
But we're both hot headed
So when all the **** goes down in flames
which one of us is to blame?

The arsonist fell in the love
with absence, absolve and absinthe
and all are ingredients
to this recipe of disaster.
You love me
I tolerate you.
That's what family means right?

I'd like to think this happiness
isn't just a dream-
isn't just these pills that make it seem that way.
Wait till you see the other side-
and everything will become a sink hole again.
I destroy everything I've ever loved
and watch as it delves
deep into oblivion
like these pills that fill my fists
and these nights I've spent alone.

Fear what I've become-
so I'm not the only one.