Remedy

chandelier

nothing ever quite felt right unless you weren't yourself, you once told me.

you said that you'd never be happy until you lost your reasoning and threw caution in the trashcan behind your house like it didn't deserve a place beside you.

ring on my doorbell, i told you, leaving the key beneath the mat and often purposely forgetting to double check the door to see if it was locked - i wanted you to come over, to stop swinging from that little thread of life you had left, no more stable than a glass chandelier hanging above our heads.

you drowned yourself, ally, you just let it wash over your shoulders, rising above even your neck, until it clogged your nose and made its way into your lungs and ruined your liver, too.

you tried to run from it for a little while, only to come back into its awful embrace. it hurt you, i could see, the way you dragged your limbs behind you as if everything hurt you too awfully for you to even go on.

you were my best friend, but you let it consume you -- oh god, did it ruin you.

you threw the glasses back, one, two, three at a time, as many as you could.

but you never opened your eyes, 

and sadly, i couldn't open them for you.