I told him not to stay up for me
because I knew
I was hurting him but I couldn’t care.
That’s how it’s like,
after the knife goes deep enough,
after the first few handfuls of pills.
He deserved better–
maybe a little guilt on my part,
maybe some shame or an apology.
But I couldn’t give him that.
I wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t safe,
but I was perfectly content being reckless.
I didn’t care who I hurt.
I didn’t care about anything, really.
But if I bled enough, and numbed my senses enough,
maybe I could wade through all the chaos
in my mind and reach that one place where I could
It takes more and more to find it,
but I know that once I get there, I can
make it back out.
And when I return to whatever reality
I’m supposed to be in, everything will be okay.