there is no such thing
as a cure
and who ever tips back your chin
and pours their hot hot heat of
good things
and happiness
is a liar
happiness is cold and alone
shivering in the corner and waiting
painfully
for you to notice
Author notes
sit in your room
drink your wine
wish away the feelings
sit in your room
inject the heroin
numb yourself
but you'll wake up
alone
cold
and yet still
unhappy
be alone. wake up. happiness has never been captured in a vile. so stop lying to yourself with every drug you shove up your nostril, the voice in the back of your head is saying the truth, that the nerve endings reacting and sucking up all the endorphines you can find from that little vile will eventually dry up and die. and you just threw away the one person who sat up all night to your endless stories.
good job.
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