You  came to me tonight,
for the first time in six months,
with wit and glamour,
and the fruit of your tongue.

My ship
is sinking,
the ocean,
a diabolic swell,
is spilling overboard.

I've known it was capsizing
since you first opened your mouth
and asked my name.
I watched you steer that wreckage
right into my stomach
and pull me aboard.
Humming, solemn,
my warnings unrecieved.

I've gotten the help I need,
a life boat,
shaped like a bottle of pills,
a chemical chaos
in my head.

I told you the waters
were unforgiving
that Poseidon's tantrums
would pull you
under.
Fueled by rattling orange containers
with a printed label reading:

KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN

with the side effects of

SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/FEELINGS
NAUSEA
DESIRE TO DROWN SHIPWRECK-SURVIVORS

You were right

You spoke,
as you held me below the surface.

You're sinking again,
in little powdery ovals
jammed in your throat
with all the wheezing frogs.
and the taste of a stranger's lip gloss
is washed away
with a glass of water
following
your recommended
daily dosage.