it was dark
it always is
and i was hurting
and i took the bottle
tipping in into my mouth
the amateurs,
the posers, say vodka burns
not really.
it slid down my throat and lit
a fire inside my stomach
and every time it cooled
i reached for the bottle again;
hoping to forget, hoping for some attention,
hoping to be numbed;
i don't really know,
i was just hoping
they say hope is the strongest
but my hope was born out of the weakest of emotions;
love.
but somehow, we all end up drinking,
drowning in hate
YOU ARE READING
how to stay
Poetry*TRIGGER WARNING* really just me finding out how to not want to die; but i can call this a collection of poetry that encompasses the struggle of healing, the setbacks and relentlessness of depression and several other mental illnesses. love always.
