Once there was a girl,
and she found that she wasn’t so beautiful,
but not because of her thighs,
or her lips,
or eyes.
It was because she had something that hurt her,
that lived in her ribs.
She tried to drown it in whiskey, and choke it with smoke.
But it never seemed to die,
just hide.
It waited until the right moment, when it knew she could take no more.
And in those moments she found that she liked kissing girls, and one broke her heart.
Another one broke her down.
And another one watched her drown.
The doctors told her that she had come a long way, and that the diagnosis were starting to belittle.
"You’re making amazing progress" they told her.
She believed she was.
She held her own hands through hard times,
she found spirituality,
she learned how to breathe.
But lately she found her self leaving her mind,
walking with nothing but drops of acid on her tangled tongue, marijuana in her lungs and whiskey on her breath.
She found her self in a lullaby,
and she realized that lately,
she’s been really.
really,
tired.