Like Soldiers
Fighting a battle
They sit in rows
On the kitchen
Counter.

Teen.
Bi Polar.
Glorified ******.
Call me what you will
But do not take away
These bottles
Proscribed
To take away
My pain.

Dad says there's
Nothing wrong-
That my soldiers
Fight against me,
What does he know
Of the suffering
In my head
On my heart
In me?

Let me sit
And die
In the shade of
My soldiers
Let them fight off the pain
One last time
And let them shoot me,
Gently,
In the head.