The cabinet is calling my name.
I have been sat opposite, eyeing the handle
For the past hour.
There is an internal battle going on,
An inner war with myself.
There are 60 different packs
Of pills in that cabinet
And an inhaler.
There are 2 packs of cigarettes
In my hand, shaking with my rattling bones.
There is a half empty bottle
Of vodka on the countertop,
And three quarters of a cookie.
I was supposed to be staying sober.
The first pack is pink,
Nono - the pack is white, the pills are pink.
And sugary.I could devour them all.
The crumbs look bigger at eye level,
The bottle is looming above now,
It makes my stomach churn.
Maybe I am finally rejecting the drink,
Maybe I am falling a little ill,
Maybe I'm just really fucking hungry.
YOU ARE READING
Death by Words: A Selection of Poetry
PoetryA collection of poetry written by me (that, as always, demonstrates my mental deterioration and inner dialogue).
