When I Say I Hit An All Time Low,

WITH THIS NEEDLE, I THEE WED

So now little girl, you’re tired of grass

LSD, acid, cocaine, and hash

When someone pretending to be a true friend

Said “I’ll introduce you to Miss Heroin”

Well, honey, before you start fooling with me

Let me inform you of just how it’ll be

For I will seduce you and make you my slave.

I’ve sent stronger ones than you straight to their grave.

You’ll think you could never be such a disgrace

Then you’ll end up addicted to poppy seed waste.

You’ll start by inhaling me, one afternoon

Then you’ll take me into your arms very soon.

And once I have entered deep down in your vein

The craving will really drive you insane.

You’ll need lots of money (have you already been told?)

For darling, I am much more expensive than gold.

One day you’ll realize the monster you’re grown,

Then solemnly promise to leave me alone.

If you think you’ll have the mystical knack

Just come on and try getting me off your back.

The vomit, the cramps, your guts in a knot,

The jangling nerves screaming for just one more shot.

The hot chill, the cold sweats, the withdrawal pains

Can only be eased by my little white grains.

There is no other way, no need to look

For deep down inside you’ll know that you’re hooked.

You’ll desperately run to the pusher and then

You’ll welcome me back to your vein once again.

And when you return, as I have foretold,

You’ll ultimately give me your body and soul.

You’ll give up our morals, your conscience, your heart

And then you’ll be mine, ‘til death do us part.

“I’m drowning.”

— “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I haven’t slept in days.”

— “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I don’t want to get out of bed.”

— “Let me know if you need anything.”

“It feels like everything is piling on top of me.”

— “Let me know if you need anything.”

Over and over,

I speak.

I crack open the door to my pain,

let pieces fall out,

quietly hoping someone will catch them.

But the words just echo back

into an empty hallway

with nothing but

“I’m here if you need anything”

to cushion the fall.

What does that even mean—

if no one’s really listening?

If no one knocks, no one checks in,

no one sits beside you

in the silence where words don’t reach.

Each time I say I’m not okay,

and it’s met with nothing but space,

it teaches me something:

my voice doesn’t matter here.

So I stop saying it.

I stop reaching out.

I stop hoping.

The loneliness grows louder.

The weight gets heavier.

And eventually,

even breathing feels like a burden.

“Let me know if you need anything”

isn’t comfort.

It’s a curtain drawn between me and the world.

It’s a phrase said to feel helpful,

without being helpful at all.

Because if no one listens,

if no one shows up,

then communication isn’t key—

it’s a locked door

with no one on the other side.

And eventually,

you stop knocking.

You stop trying.

You just let it all collapse.

We don’t talk about it.

We don’t talk about it at all.

That night I scratched lightening bolts into your back , shook so hard I thought winter was leaking in from the window. You curled towards me in your sleep , heart as loud as a drum line.

Now….

We are quiet as headstones.

I didn’t know all the difference, morning brings.. 💔

Happiness scares me because there is always a price to pay afterwards. ..

Theres two things in this life that can turn you into a monster. I found it and it found me. Innocence doesn’t fade, it rots. Go soft in the middle like a peach left too long. First it’s sweet then it makes you sick. Then it makes you hungry for something bad. Something real bad. Something that could swallow you whole. It was sweet, I was sweet. I was so sweet , too sweet and sweet don’t save you. It sits there and rots in your hands. I was black this year , that was the year I stopped crying, started watching, started listening. I watched your mannerisms, I waited for the snap beneath your breath. There’s something off about you, off about you. There’s something off about you. Your leather hands slid down my back it don’t feel wrong but I know it don’t feel right. There’s pink on everything but there’s nothing light in me anymore. There’s something off about you.

JM.

When I say that I am afraid of being my father or making mother’s mistakes , I am greeted with the old saying , the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as if I am destined to be just like them solely because I am a product of them. I want to tell them that the apple can roll away. That it can hit the ground running and drift away with the creeks stream. That it can be picked up by gentle hands and placed somewhere different , a better place where the apple is polished and admired and painted like its art. The apple still did come from the tree, they’ll argue.

But it can feel different , be different.

The apple doesn’t have to go far in order to be nothing like the rest of the tree. My exterior may look like theirs but I am not filled with their rot.