3 months, 5 days;
an accomplishment for an addict,
a grueling period at the best.
when the pain took her over,
she couldn't breathe
or see
or talk
she simply couldn't.
3 months, 6 days;
she started to sink
like ships in a war torn ocean
but these wars weren't between battling countries,
they were between her mind and the blade,
fighting for power over one another.
3 months, 7 days;
she had an anchor tied to her foot,
slowly and painfully pulling her down.
the struggle wasn't worth it anymore,
she was going to give in,
she didn't know when
but it was happening.
3 months, 7 days, 15 hours;
at 3 am she awoke and pain swept over her like a rainstorm during a drought,
she'd kept clean for months on end (or so it felt) but nothing compares to the feeing of the metal running across the skin,
the tears running down your face.
that was the only way to relieve the pain.
and that's the only way she slept peacefully,
that night was the first in 3 months.
//just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it//
