I’m pulling out grass,
wishing to feel closer to you.
I convince myself that it’s okay,
that I’m better, because I’ve learned
the beautiful craft of distraction.

I make sure there is always sound
vibrating off my walls, never a dull moment
in this skull. Numb it with herbs and every
time a voice goes low, drown it out
with stronger voices, any voices,
just never music. Or I’ll end up
right back where I began.

I’m pulling out grass
wishing to feel closer to you.
But instead I inhale, blink back
tears, pull myself off the ground.
It’s easier to carry on feeling nothing at all.

Another night, and I'm drinking
It's the medicine I take
To dull this existential ache
It's only 63% proof
So not 100% effective
But its that or the alternative
So I'll accept it
Half a bottle down
It still hurts to exist
Maybe it always will
I'll stay medicated
Till I live, or die

they say dont self medicate
but i cant keep living this way
cant take all the anger and hate
drifting around getting lost in the gray.
would a cigarette be a real devastation?
Then theres all forms of self mutilation
i could always drown my uneasiness
with bottle after bottle of 60proof queasiness
theres all sorts of remedies
in prescription form
theyll make you feel happy and ecstatic and warm
or theyll make everything fuzzy and drag you down low
give your head an awful sort of chemical blow
theres so many options
theyll make me feel great
take away the bad feelings
coerce my mood to elevate