Human Pills

I swallow pills,
one at a time,
until the bottle is half empty.

I know it's wrong.

But that's just what it takes
to make me remember what
empty
feels like these days.
I've been so lonely lately
I can't seem to focus on the beauty
of being alone.

I know it's still in there,

Somewhere,
because we used to
be in love.

Alone and I.

Oh but hell,
who do I think I'm kidding anyway
these days?
This poet gig stinks;
I used to be a hack and now
I'm just a fuckup.
Oh and by the way,
I'd like it if you'd call when you say
instead of getting my hopes up.
I am not as mean as I used to be--
I'm not the same tight ship or
savage machine--
but I can learn again.

And there's still something in
the bottle.

I'm swallowing pills
and I'm giving them names--
I've got Hate Hurt and Horror,
got

Sin and Blame.

None of this is new to me
but they say to stick with what
you know
so I figure why not revisit the family.
In a way it's like opening
that bitch's box again
just to see if you can nail Hope's neck on the catch
when it tries to get away.

Because if you love a butterfly,

Rip off it's wings,
so it can't hurt you
again.

Goddamned fickle butterfly.

Oh by the way,
I'm still choking to death on the
thanks-for-nothings.
All your faithless advice;
the assurance you'd wait for me
to let you down totally.
Oh and hell,
all that therapy never did shit for me
except make you feel good.
And I might not be who I used to be--
not the same sharp bitch or
sadistic dream--
but it's coming back to me.

And there's still something in
the bottle.

You've chewed me up,
shit me out;
fed me bile,
fed me doubt.
Skinned me alive and hung
me to dry--
but while I can still swallow I
refuse to die.

I take these pills,
these razor blades,
until I can't feel them burn my tongue.

That seems right.

I mean in the only way anything
really seems right anymore
here
where 'numb' has become the One God.
It seems strange that ten years
of social reconditioning should come down to this
but life likes to fuck with me.

It does that,

Life,
because it knows it can
get away with it.

Smug whore.

Oh and hell,
there I go changing my
tune again.
I can't focus for five minutes anymore;
I used to be an artist and now
I'm just losing it.
Oh and yeah by the way,
could you say that again about always being there
because I sure needed someone the other day.

Not that you care.

So I take these pills,
see the ones that I mean,
and they remind me of just what I
used to be

(the cold hearted killer,
the standalone queen)

which had no need for you
or your stories and dreams.

I can learn again.

There's still something in the bottle.

A.K.LaBelle 12/04