I don't want your pity,

or your fake concern.

You ask me why I do it—

as if I ever fucking learned.

I don't even know the name

of the thing I'm running from,

but it's always close behind.

A shadow with my face,

dragging needles through my mind.

They all say they get it,

but the ones who really do—

they don't talk,

they don't preach,

they just pass the bag

and know exactly what to do.

Yeah, life is going "great."

Got the lights,

the nights,

the girls,

the highs—

but I still stare at the ceiling

like I'm trapped behind my eyes.

*Nothing is enough.

Not even close.*

I fill the hole with smoke and pills

and strangers' skin and jokes.

But the laugh dies quick.

The love dies quicker.

The silence after feels thicker

than blood clots in my throat

when I try to speak my truth.

I wish she'd feel the same.

I wish she'd want to die with me—

not out of pain,

but to find peace

in a world that never let us be.

Let her sip my blood like wine,

let us overdose beneath the moon.

Two broken hearts,

cracked open

just a little too soon.

*I know the drugs don't fix me.

I know.

But I've stopped caring.*

It's the only time I feel anything

worth even sharing.

The numb gets heavy.

The real gets fake.

And the smile they see on my face

is just a mask I make.

Sometimes, I hate myself

for wanting more.

Sometimes, I hate myself

for still hoping

there's a door

to some clean version of me

that I locked and lost the key.

But if success meant sobriety

I'm not sure I'd want to be free.

*If I could be high

forever

and still live a good life,

I would.

I honestly would.*

I hate that my truth

might poison my kids.

But I can't unlive what I did.

And there's something beautiful

about being surrounded

by other broken things—

where no one judges

how loud your soul screams.

They're just like me.

Fucked up.

Numb.

Gone.

But trying to feel

just one, real thing

before they die.

Sometimes the drugs

make me feel human again.

Sometimes they whisper

right before they kill me

just a little more inside.

And I don't mind.

Not really.

Not if it means I get to feel

something

before this world

swallows me whole.

*So if I die before I wake—

don't cry.

Just know

I finally found the peace

I couldn't fake.*