i hope the shallow pools of blood beneath my lungs stay there forever,
and i hope the gin soaked into
the lining of my stomach
sinks into my bloodstream one day and finally poisons me.
you planted dandelions in my throat
and watched them bloom through my skin
like bright yellow daggers,
you did nothing, i said nothing,
my skin is still covered in ****** patches of grief
and i wish so many things would've turned out differently.
but the pills just kept taking me
further and further away from whatever the **** i used to be
and i wonder if there was anything
that could cure the sugar-coated massacre
that's infected my bones and my brain and my skin.
i wish the liquor would've killed me sooner
but it didn't. and now
im stuck with the ache of sobriety
eating away at my intestines.