I am the most self aware when it rains
This pit in my stomach grows
deeper than the blood in my veins
And I can feel every inch
of absence that lingers
in the space between my fingers
Parallel lines of exhaustion
and depression fall into a figure eight
And at the point of intersection
you can find me buried
in too many years of self-hate
Begging for a case of amnesia
to take these memories away
Or at least a shot of anesthesia
to ease the pain if only
for a single comfortable day