Why is it
That I am at my most creative
When I am in the most pain
That I produce as I labour over the emotional debt I've been building up for one too many years.
That is unfair.
Why is it that
All these tortured teenage girls
Cannot sleep
Cannot eat
Cannot drink
But can choke
Choke on the pain like they choke on the ***** they will become addicted to
Cough up their lungs because of the drugs their parents told them not to take
Shudder as their legs are pried open by fingers that do not belong
Fingers that are attached to those you thought that you could trust
Cry, in the shower
So nobody can hear you
See you
Feel you
Taste you
Breathe you.
Build it up and up and up
And you are untouchable
Nobody can tell you
It'll all be okay
Because it is not and never will be.
The anti depressants you were prescribed can numb the pain
But not eliminate it
It will always buzz on the back of your brain
Like a bee flying into the cold glass of a window
Again and again.
You are trapped.