People die from this pain.
I don’t wanna be one of them.
The news will say they struggled for 40 years
before they finally gave up.
I’m already more than halfway there.
I wanna live
but I have to take it seriously.
I don’t want this pain to **** me.
Some days, I think it might.

I see my reflection
in people OD’ing on pain pills,
injecting an escape.
I see my reflection in people with nooses around their necks,
smiling for the cameras
before they ***** out their own light.
A magic pill
can’t change what I’ve been through.
A noose might end the pain,
if you did it right.
I don’t wanna go that route.
I want to live.
I don’t want this pain to **** me.
Some days, I think it might.

I know, I seem fine.
My mom taught me best
how to hide my pain from the world,
to make everyone think I’m OK.
You could have a white picket fence,
dogs, kids, husband, a Porsche,
and a smile for the camera,
and still be dead inside.
I’m not fine.
This pain is my inheritance.
No one can take this pain away,
especially if they don’t want to hear about it.
It’s a lonely road.
I want to live.
I don’t want this pain to **** me.
Some days, I think it might.