I didn't even realize it had been a year
since you saw my raw heart, eaten alive
by my mind.
That night was monumental, whether in
a right or wrong way I can't decide, but
why can't it both?
An understood vow - no more calling you
when I couldn't get a grip in the jungle of life.
This November 5th, the last breath in my
lungs was dialing 911 even though I held
no voice in my hollow throat.
I cleaned up as much as I possibly could.
Parts of the past, parts of the present. The
lipstick-stained mirrors egging me on to surrender
color with "you're not strong enough, you're not
worthy enough"
But I've had enough, enough...
I walked home like a drunk around 2 AM
with 38 pills left in my purse of the 72
possible ones I could have swallowed.
I bled, I wanted to vomit, but I did not cry.
It was like my veins were too dry and weary.
I was sluggish - swerving to the left and right
while the wheels in my head kept spinning.
I had to scold myself, "this will never happen
again."
I don't want handcuffs. I don't want sirens.
I don't want to keep wasting my life cutting
my dignity out and giving in to nightmares
because I know, this will all pass at some point,
when the hurricane leaves my soul.
