Plasters & Pills

Three, or maybe four a day
I stumble to the cupboard in which I don't
Want to look. I rummage through the endless
Packages of plasters and pills.
They don't really help but I take them anyway
I feel ashamed of the fact I have no choice
In the matter, I don't control what I say
Or do, how I hurt or who.
I look at myself in the mirror each day, I
Cant seem to stand what I see, staring back at me
Scratches on my arm, they come to no harm
At least thats one thing I control.
Wishes that are wasted on water and pills
I watch as before me, my life starts to spill.

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