Writing of a mentally ill teenager

Unfortunately, I'm chalant.

this one gonna be an angst so tw for suicide 

The last pill clung to the inside of my throat. it didn't want to go down. why would it? it didn't ask to be taken out of its wrapper and shoved straight down the throat of an overdramatic 15-year-old girl. it didn't even get water to help it. it didn't have a chance to experience what most of its kind does. the hug of the water before gently sliding into the stomach of someone in pain. getting to dissolve, helping someone in need. not this pill. this pills destiny is to kill. its destiny is to enter my bloodstream and attack my liver till it can no longer function. It's meant to die alongside me.

And yet it clings. it holds onto the inside of my throat, knowing that it hasn't had a chance to live yet. knowing it deserves a chance to feel the touch of water washing over it. holding it. keeping it safe until itis time for it to help someone else. isnt that what its made for? to help people? what am i made for? am i meant to help people? or am i doomed, just like this pill, to help someone die. to help someone stop hurting. i swallow once again and the pill slides down my throat. the end of the pill and the end of me.

WELP LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE OR SMTH.. hope ygs love this cos i feel quite poetic