and i'll pretend
that i am perfectly okay.
that every time i accused you of not loving me anymore,
and you told me to calm down,
my heart didn't begin to race a million miles per minute and my breathing didn't begin to weigh down my chest and my hands didn't shake like your voice speaking to my mother on a sunday morning.
granted, i may or may not have already finished half the pill bottle, but won't seven painkillers **** my pain?
maybe you'll see what you're doing to me when my vision is too blurred to read your messages