Now I am seen begging for help
because I cannot tell if it's love,
or if I am just so ******* lonely that
I have confused poison with the taste of vanilla.
Like a dear friend, I constantly welcome the
harsh bitterness that you bring, and it seems that
I am blind to a game that everyone else sees you playing.
Please, if I do crash, do not let me burn.

This sickness sits like a hole
in my stomach
and I can feel it spread like wildfire
throughout my body.
From my shaking hands to the
vice around my lungs
preventing a steady breath,
it makes itself known and I can
focus on nothing else.
I cannot tell what has worn me down more;
the hand-over-the-mouth sobbing
so no one will hear,
or how every time I repeat "you will get through this",
I believe it less and less.

- R.H.