A box of prescription drugs on my table.
It holds your name. Stating what is wrong with you.
Flaunting the details of where your body is
Failing.

You notice the hair on my pillow.
Shame.
Worried looks.
Anger.
I find none of it in your eyes.
You buy me razors.
"Do you need any help?" you ask.

Kisses on my bald scalp.
Beauty. Now we match even
Better.