I think of you when the medication hasn’t hit me yet,

when the pills are starting to run low in count,

and the bottle is still resting on the counter, unopened.

-

I like to feel sometimes,

it’s a bad habit of mine.

It lets you back into my mind.

-

The pills take you away,

but sometimes I want you to stay,

so I make the pills stay in the bottle.

-

But that’s irresponsible,

it’s something illogical,

and I only let it happen once every moon cycle.

-

I reach my hands up towards empty space,

as I lie in my bed, it’s late, almost 1 AM.

I imagine that your hand is reaching back,

like we’re on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

-

You are a painting to me now,

that I can admire but never touch again,

unless spirits and fate bring us back together,

but I’ve learned to stop dreaming like that.

Reality has kicked in.

-

I never thought it would.

I never thought any of it would

ever make sense to me.

And the day that it did,

I stopped relying on the bottles,

and let myself feel pain for one last time.

Then I swallowed the pill,

let it rest on my tongue, stinging its taste

into my memory,

so I would remember to not do this again.

I would remember to not remember you,

and to keep the lid off the bottle next time.