Pills rattle on cue,
Cats purr in soft solace true.
Sofa hugs my frame,
Netflix whispers, sleep reclaims—
Healing slow, the hours accrue.

Twelve.
Such a wonderful age.
The human is still young, yet beginning to gain more knowledge.
But my twelve was different.

My twelve wasn't playing with toys
Or reading books all day
No.
It was about working a hard job under my stepfather's violent hand.

About crying out for help
Yet too quiet to be heard.

My twelve was about finding the power of
Turning mental pain into that of physical
About the box of pills in my drawer
And a bottle of water helping them get into my system

My twelve was about going to sleep
And hoping i'll never wake up
About my mother not knowing her child tried to end his life
At its very beginning.

In the depths of despair, I find myself bound
Wrapping my feelings, discarded and drowned
A facade I wear, to hide all the sad
These pills promised joy, but it's all just a fad

Awoken from slumber, uncertainty sets in
A dreamlike haze, questioning where I've been
Carelessly ingesting the pills I rely
But happiness eludes, just a hollowed-out lie

A world spinning 'round as I lay on the floor
Regret floods my thoughts, seeping to my core
Perhaps behind the smile, I was never truly glad
A facade shattered, revealing the sadness I've had

Waiting for flatline as time slips away
The clock's steady ticking, my senses betray
Listening closely, knowing the world will carry on
In its blissful ignorance, without me, it will dawn.

Yesterday I swallowed a tiny glass capsule
much like that
I've been walking around in for years
amongst these picture people.
My palm clung to walls made sticky by the heat,
skin to pane,
I could not bear to let go.
I wanted to enjoy their stapler smiles
but the fog made it impossible to see.
I only called it what it was
when I breathed it into the glass.
It was always there.
I wished it would fill the whole thing,
wished I had a match,
so it would serve some purpose.
So my capsule becomes gray and troubling
against its paper background.
So they stop and stare,
Look at the girl in the bubble.
I think she's suffocating.
Like it's a revelation.
Like Gabriel himself hand-delivered
tiny glass pills for them to swallow.
Let me be their spectacle.
Let me be the object of their pity.
Let me be a one-woman-glass-capsule miniature show.
I'll be their tired metaphor.
I'll choke on shimmering shards so they can watch my blood color their roses.
I'll drink until I'm heavy with turpentine.
I will destroy myself.
I will make it clean.
Tiny glass capsule
in my wooden palm
who did you once hold?

I took that pill, and here were the symptoms:

In your eyes; I’d rather seem different, than distant—
still in the very distance, could you see me in a better light?

While coming to these unacquainted places;
meeting in between, hoping not to be as complacent.

As cutting ties, feels like cutting corners, still if I could
love someone only for a night, I’d adore the
memory of it, in that later morning.

A real tough pill to swallow.

I started using again
Needed distraction
Needed happiness
Needed the buzz
I started using again
Replaced my mind with a pill
One two three four
After that I lost the count
Cigarettes burn my lungs
I breath in and breath out
But I still suffocate
In my own despair

One pill
Panic attack stops
Two pills
Anxiety goes
Three pills
I am high up in the clouds
Four pills
Who am I?

I was expecting you to be
spying on me
in an attempt to talk
with the voice of a lost passenger
it seems you and I are always looking
for something
sounds that I can't let go
feelings you inspired on others
losing my patience
losing our tempers
you're all over me and it feels so good
as you are spilling a ghost
I won't complain
underneath a stained glass
all I can do is follow the path you created
with your brief smile

douse my beehive mind
in liquid amphetamines
to steady the blurry split screens
of multi-tabbed greyhound speed
barking madly at stalking shadows
fallen from my heels
jolting me out of my skin.

throw a rope ladder down
into the entrapment basement
resident stage to the passive aggressive
clinking cutlery orchestra
conducting butter knife cutting taunts
torturing my melted butter split aura.

hanging on to the edge of a chair
inside my chest where every breath
echoes the beat of a marching band
& trembling hands stand
on melting ice as they somersault
in the winter solstice
frozen from cavity vault to my face.
              
i look to see through sleeps eyes
where the mercury penny drops
under arrow pierced apples
in shade dripping with nights clarity
on a melted sea beneath
the flowing eastern wind
blowing the misty uncertainty to smithereens.

neuron explosions sketch constellations
out of flame infused
squeezed citrus peels
as sparks dance
where beasts of land, air & sea
collide in dotted starry symbols
drawing borders across synchronicity.

my rubber soles are worn thin
while stones fill the insides
but rubber-band wings stretched wide
bending tides & mountains appear as molehills
from weightless vapor heights dissolving the sky.

i seek the calm of crocodile waters
where i can stretch my legs
on fertile silt riverbeds
& soak in the golden sunshine smile
washing down in spectacular arrays
of scepter conjured waves.

open the gates to my airborne castle
where hope finds ****** interpretations
along the path to eternal symposiums
i'm lead to Jericho's jenga answers.

It was always far too quiet
And rarely did I talk
But the silence that persued me
Means I rattle when I walk.

Often, it becomes my haven
Where silence would else lay
My head is a deserted grave
The rattling keeps the silence at bay.

A few pills will make some noise
Too many makes a lot
But if I am filled all the way up
The rattling will stop.