"the complex is alive and well"
i feel violated
when I wake up
a run-in with nightmares,
needles and empty bottles
and some say they are tired of
the plot being held together
with the scent of rum on my clothes,
and i flip through my old books.
the pictures of peter are worn
and the colors are fading.
"seroquel: take one an hour before bedtime"
i pick up the pen ten minutes after swallowing
a little white pill, and i slide full pages to the side,
and i light a cigarette and bend my head, ink smearing,
moving, living under my fingers, the y's looped across
two separate lines, and the t's rarely crossed, i scream
onto paper, trying to label everything in
an hour, my head heavier and my vision hazy,
and I close my eyes and wake up with my nose
numb, and trying to shake the need for cocaine.
"you are addicted to everything"
i take the lithium with milk,
and i feel shaky.
(i don't think in technicolor tragedies anymore.
it's always been the first thing to go.)
"you are one of the people I never would have expected to see here"
daylight frightens me.
i slam the volume louder,
louder, louder, and drown out
the screaming in my head.
sometimes i wonder if i am
more afraid of stepping out of
my safety net of darkened rooms
and slipping into a perpetual motion
of beings, terrified of having to
connect with faces and smiles
and knowing that i was the one who
was desperately lost out of us all, the poet,
the whore, the girl, the bitch.
i don't think anyone knew my real name.
"why, it's just me"
i have never come apart like that,
begging and unable to talk, his lips
like a chemistry riddle across
my shoulder and i blister,
jerking upward toward anything
that is a stable compound
to cling to.
"i could care less about your fucking promise"
i can still feel your hands
on the back of my neck,
moving my hair to fasten the clasp
on the necklace you bought for me,
and i remember losing it,
and not caring.
you are a waste of humanity,
and you abandoned me.
i wish i could stop forgiving you.)
"you can leave at anytime during this procedure"
why didn't i get up
once i started crying, before
the doctor came in, and the nurse
stood beside me, and handed me a cup
of water. she asked me if my boyfriend
knew i was here. i said i didn't know
who the father was. she told me i was a liar.
i whispered second star to the right in a valium
fog and took the tranquilizers they gave me,
and walked out the door to flyers shoved in my face.
the complex is alive and well.
a/n: thank god. thank god thank god. how is it that a red-headed fairytale boy keeps saving my life and my sanity?