my body is my cage
my limbs, running on auto pilot
my legs take me to the kitchen
my hands grasp the steaming cup of tea
back to my bedroom it is,
to sit crossed legged
in the center of my bed
my mind is no longer in control,
which, is for the best.
images of pill bottles
little capsules shaken into the palm of my hand
i lift my drink to my lips
warmer than i thought, my tongue burns
flashes of sharp objects on skin
and scorching flame to flesh
i swallow, the syrupy taste of
honey slipping down my throat.
my mind in a fog,
my weighted body finds the strength
to lay down, pull the covers to my chin
lights left on, clothes from that day
have yet to be taken off my body
my eyelids close as they do every night
it'll be better in the morning.