I hate to see you this way.
Depression oozing from every pore.
Paranoia strapped to your body like a piggyback you never consented to.
White powdered dust still eminent in your nasal passages.
I’m trying to love and tolerate you with the same compassion I’d have for a sick person.
Because in all reality you are sick.
Mentally and spiritually ill.
I told everyone we lost touch but I’m tired of lying to my fingertips.
It’s the same game with you, I know how this goes.
The ticking clock in your mouth gets louder by the minute.
It gets harder to distinguish the truth in all your lies.
And I’m left with no choice but to cut ties.
Honey it’s okay, I know hands like yours only know how to let go.
You told me how you were just trying to fill the void with anything that’ll pour into it.
You told me you’re sick of waking up with raw knuckles from fist fighting the demons in your sleep.
The ones that whisper in your ear and tell you to question everything.
Like the emptiness in your stomach
And the water in your lungs.
I heard you stopped smoking cigarettes.
But you still hang on to old habits.
I guess they’re hard to kick.
I saw the light fade from your eyes,
there’s nothing left inside them.
No twinkle, no shine.
There used to be so much life inside you.
Now you’re someone I don’t recognize.
Somewhere along the way between finding yourself and finding something to fill the white spaces you gave up hope and abandoned all the qualities that made you unique.
Now you look like a dead end street full of vacant houses and mailboxes are full of all the unopened letters I sent while you were in the treatment center.
I’m not sure if this is something we can replace in all the empty bottles and nickel baggies but you said you’ll find a way to make it work.
I know the human skin can be hard to live in, so you pull at the layers of blackened scar tissue just trying to find some solution to the issue.
But baby the issue is you.
You’d break your own finger just to be sure it’s not pointing at you.
I’m not the enemy.
You’re fighting a war against someone who’s never pulled a weapon on you.