Half-life

The ninth poem in my compilation, A Tragic Story...

It's four in the morning

The neon clock flashes its warning

Stop now!

But I'm having trouble forming

The strength

It breaks

Pop a few pills and I try to wait

For the bottle to sink-

-In with the bitter taste

My head spins- another aspirin

NyQuil- but I can't still

This ceaseless weakness

And I still feel

The rising pain, the memory

I push them back, no more clarity

I can't stand this place, don't stare at me

But I see your face, and I'm begging please

Just one more night...

Leave me be.

I turn to the night stand

The pain pills are scattered

Mixed around like my now shattered-

-mind- but it doesn't matter.

What does? What can?

The bottles half-empty,

I'm but half a man.

Author's Note

In this part of my life I was at a breaking point. I didn't want to be doing the things I was anymore, but I didn't feel like I could stop. The pain of withdrawals and the memories and feelings of guilt kept me away from getting over it. It was right before a change in my life. Or the start of a change. I've posted this one before, but here it is in chronological order with the rest of my compilation A Tragic Story, which traces a line through my life.

Reviews

[Southern Cross]

I have never been in someone's own personal Hell...These poems claw at the reader and drag you right in the web..