Number One - An Internal Monologue

3:29 PM Poetry 0 Comments

It's your only weapon
to combat the wolves in your brain
that leave tally marks across your skin,
upwards until you die
always counting like a child
learning to count for the first time. 
One potato, two potato, three potato four
Take these pill, cut vertically and lie down on the floor
You loved the wording on the side of the bottle
FATAL IF SWALLOWED
So final, so secure in itself
You knew what you wanted and
you knew how to get it.
Manipulation becomes you.
She drove here for you
she bought the toilet bowl cleaner for you
she drove out of state for you
Fire doesn't begin to describe
the searing in your throat
or the fear in hers.
You lie down to get some rest
the thoughts leaving your brain
like a tree on a blissful autumn afternoon.
Do you feel the lethargy?
That is your body beginning to shut down.
You feel the nausea?
That is the internal bleeding from
the hole in your stomach.
Feel the tingle in your limbs
starting with your hands and feet
and slowly crawling to your core?
You are dying.
They will say you lived a good life
that you were so troubled
that you had been depressed.
They will tear your mother apart
like cannon fodder to fuel the macabre game
that is human curiosity.
They will send condolences and have memorials
celebrating a past that never happened
and a future that never will.
They will mourn the idea of you
because that is the thing to do.