Crying for help. When you should be doing it yourself. ******* and mental health. That's where the silence lies in your declining health. The fact that you don't speak up about how much you need help. It’s not just you it’s your unborn child too. I care for you. Making a habit of the abused. Trying to figure out which path to choose. Blood I cleaned while you were passed out high. All the time I’m trying to decide. Whether I help you or me can’t you see? It’s not even my baby. You have no understanding of what sacrifices I’ve made just to keep you alive. The abuse she got when he was high. I came into your life thinking I could strive. Decaying memories declining entities. Blood written sanity. All connected from a path from you to me. I care for you. I always have. When I See this it leaves me traumatized. Because it leaves me in a state I Never realized. Because my mom did the same thing before she died. BUT not before I was alive. You have no idea how it makes me feel. And every time I help you I ask is this real? Xanax and twisted toxins. Old books and the lies they carry. Self-seclusion and box-ins. secrets and the love we bury. I have the impulse to ask for help. To gather the feelings to excel unparalleled. Untouched by the demons we both share. To save my love I had to make the devil my friend. And that's why i have nightmares about going to hell in the end. Soaking up what’s left. If something’s left at all and that why i haven't been answering when people call. AND I tried to stop speaking. God shut the door when i tried leaving. Voices in my head keep repeating. Look at you you're pathetic.. Maybe you should start seeing. And this isn't the first time I've said it. Trauma has you stuck in the same place. Taken from every piece of you and diluted from the truth. Same societal hate. Same pictures I can abbreviate I’m lucky you can relate. Because I feel as if I am flawed in a world of fakes. You're a message who's a mess. Stuck in the pattern of oppression. You could've asked for help. But you were too scared inside. Our sins are out in public and we have nothing to hide. Now as the alcohol levels increase. When you die. I loose a part of me. Can’t you see? The pain will never cease. Because down this path is a layer of darkness. And I was sure you would've thought this. Thought about your child or the implications as long as a mile. Or the consequences building up in a pile. Death is looking at our faces. And our stories are becoming faded. But think about it. Do you want to be just a statistic? I'm not trying to be sadistic. But the line is closer than we ever thought. And the barrier will always remain crossed.