When I was struggling my
hardest to keep the will to
stay alive I was taking at most
three pills a day.
I just watched three dissolve in the
sweet tea in front of me while
another two continue to snake
their way through my veins.
I keep flashing back to the
day I first confessed to someone
I was hanging on by a thread.
I loved her enough to tell her
who I was and she loved me
enough to stay anyway.
And now I'm reminded by her
every smile that she sees within me
some strength, some reason to keep
smiling.
All I see is a fucked up
pill head who can't even
control his own thoughts
without assistance.
I can't feel loved without them
but every moment I think about
how much I need them all I can
feel is hate which does nothing
but drive me deeper into need.
I want to tell her.
I don't want to hide.
But if she sees me for what I am
then she'll never see me again.
And I'm all out of pills for that.