The Addict

& She'd give anything to make the pain stop,
Give any little tiny thing she could muster,
Any word, beautiful epitaph, chronology, excuse,
Excuses, she's full of those, isn't she?
But what you don't know is that she once was full of life

She once radiated a glow that drew people towards her,
Once controlled the atmosphere of a room with her cheerful laugh,
Once danced upon stages, reciting lines from a book of words,
Pretended, pretended and loved every moment of it

Now she pretends to be okay,
On this broken, cracking to the cornerstone, stage of life,
Where they ripped off the wing of her costume,
Slashed the velveteen garments she performed in,
Dancing, now, beneath the body of the man who will give her what she wants,
Reciting the words from the beautiful, thick book where she hides until he is finished
destroying her once again

One pill....

Two pills....

Three pills....

Shot of vodka,
Shot of Jack,

Time elapsing...

Finally, release...

They dissolve in her bile,
Seeping through the cracks in her intestines, hitting her blood,
and finally, finally, finally - she is at peace enough to rest

Ambien/Klonopin Ramblings #9,857

No matter how hard she tries,
the silence won't leave her alone

Won't let her breathe in
peace, won't let her smile from the inside

Silence takes his chilly hands
and wraps them around her neck

Sending goosebumps along her
neck bones, down to her sternum

He reminds her that she is not of them
Not of the ones who can function the way they do

Get up, go to work, discipline,
fortitude, friendships, families,
history repeating itself for them

Not her
Never her

She watches them - awestruck
at the simple movements that they make

How the fluidity of their days
liquefy into one another, small raindrops pooling
in the empty bottles of time

She wants to be a part of that
Not much, just her own small square of the world

A tiny corner in the Universe where
she could possibly belong

To someone
With someone
With some tiny one's
Maybe even a cat or two

Husband, House, Cars,
Well trimmed lawn, Smiling neighbors
that wouldn't look down at her for the ink
she has on her skin or the hoops of sterling in her ears

She dreamed of "home"
She dreamed alone
Thank God the Dr. put her on Prazosin
for PTSD nightmares,
Cuz' now she won't have to dream anymore
and wake up to find that dreams don't manifest
for her the way spells used to

Another man,
Another bed,
Another flop of a relationship,
But who cares, really?
She has ambien and klonopin and prazosin
to take care of all the day/night fears and tears

She has her magic spells
They just sit in bottles on a shelf these days
instead of in a book or in cards

If this were Alice in Wonderland,
She would have turned into a puff of
smoke from the caterpillars hookah by now

Just drifting away...away...away...away...