“Before I wrote this poem I was in a tortuous cycle of feeling hopeless/angry, finding self destructive ways to cope with those feelings, and then finally pretending that nothing was wrong and that my depression didn’t exist. That cycle continued for quite some time. The first step toward breaking that cycle was to simply acknowledge that something was wrong. Learning positive coping strategies like writing was a great place to start towards recovery. Some say pen to paper is the best therapy…and when I wrote this, that was definitely what I had in mind.”
There’s a face on the shower’s walls
Smirking, for he knows my secret
He watches me and knows my flaws
I cringe and hope he keeps it
The soap won’t wash away what I am
So maybe the blood from my wrist can?
His eyes stare, so flat and phony
The sad fact of the matter is, he’s the only one who knows me.
I drive my nails deep down into my skin
I hold tight to you, my wicked ways, and sin
I dance with the devil and spit fire at the sky
I wish I was living, I wish I would try
I hold the bottles to my lips to finally feel warm
The more that I drink, the less my thoughts swarm
The alcohol burns and eats away the soul
I pray and I pray to someday feel whole
Everything inside aches outwards and hurts
The bottom of a bottle is where I lurk
Grotesque and indulgent
I bathe in the gin
I’m a loser and a user and the addiction will win
I abuse myself and my body loves it, don’t you see?
I’d rip out my heart if I could be anyone but me.