The Catalyst To My Goodbye

You're Living... Wrong

You're choking on bottle tops,
That burning liquid long gone down your throat,
Little holes in your veins to make the pain subside,
Just for a little while,
Just long enough to make you want more.

You spend your stale money from the dusty drawer in the small table -
The one beside the far-from-stainless mattress of brown and red stains -
On white powder and cheap scotch,
Because those are the ones that make you forget,
'Till you're passed out in a ice-cold bath again,
Pillow of stagnant water begging to envelop you,
But as much as you want to die,
You refuse it's wishes.

A pile of long-forgotten papers and school books sit sadly in the corner,
There more to remind you of what you've lost than to help you remember a better time,
And bloodshot eyes with deep purple bags stare back at you in the bathroom mirror,
You don't recognise them anymore.

The two lights that still work are starting to flicker,
And the house smells like depression and death,
The curtains are drawn,
You don't know the time,
The day,
The date.

If she saw you now,
She wouldn't be so proud,
She told you to be happy,
Go back to school and study music like you always dreamed of,
Travel like you always begged,
Live,
But you just survived,
For her,
But you're doing it wrong.

You're alive,
Wrong.