Broken

I feel as if most days, I’m broken.

A broken person.

A bug crushed under the feet of every other a*****e trying to get ahead.

I try to believe that one day I’ll be fixed, but I won’t.

At least I don’t believe I will.

I fill myself with anything that I can reach, to sooth

If only for a minute.

Eventually the drinks lose their flavor, and the people lose their warmth.

 

I won’t say I haven’t done my share of hurting.

But I haven’t done enough to break anyone else how I’ve been broken.

I’ve been busted, dropped, and tortured by everyone I’ve known.

They tell me they love me, and then they take a piece of me.

I give it willingly, and they replace it with filth.

Shame, knowing that my affection and trust were taken in vain.

 

I’m afraid of little things, like light.

Terrified of silence.

I surround myself with noise, to drown myself out.

I can’t be alone with myself for long periods of time

Without finding myself in the medicine cabinet again

With a  handful of silence

Is a handful of happiness

Is a handful of peace

Is a handful of sleep

And a handful of death.

All I need is comfort, and I’ll wash them down the drain,

But genuine comfort is so hard to find.

 

I’ve realized I don’t laugh enough.

I never get that ache in my stomach, anymore, though I wish for it.

I wish I could be so caught up in a genuinely joyous moment,

To laugh so much it hurts

To laugh so hard I cry.

You don’t get things like that in isolation.

 

Duct tape. That’s you.

I’m still pretty broken,

But I’m all there, and stuck in place.

You keep me here, and keep the pills down the drain.

You keep the empty smile on my face, to fool the suspicious.

You are the love.

What’s left of it, at least. The ounces that will last forever.

You’re broken, too, someone’s broken you.

So let’s be broken together.