Magic Pills

On the days I forget to swallow the magic pills ( as I call them ),

My mind turns into an abattoir,

Placing memories with you on the table,

And chopping them into pieces.

I pick each of them and swallow,

To live that moment for one more time.

Each piece has an aftertaste

Reminding me of how you caressed my face on our first date,

Reminding me of how you grabbed my neck on the last.

So I throw up and leave the sink filled with my vomit,

Because I don't know how to write a suicide note.

I close every window in my room,

Because my new neighbours like to say prayers to God out loud,

And a crippling guilt fills in my lungs, choking me,

Because I can not confess as loud as them.

So I cover my face with a plastic bag,

And scream,

"WHOM ARE YOU SAYING PRAYERS TO?"

"I HAVE SHOT HIM DEAD." "I have shot him dead"

"SHOT HIM DEAD"

"DEAD."

I start to feel the tightness around my chest and it reminds me that I am alive.

Reminds me of how my mother asks me to not say it to anyone else.

And how my father leaves the room,

Everytime I try to tell them about my Depression.

Reminds me of the shot of whiskey I had to have, To say, "I love you."

Because I believed love is not for me when sober.

Reminds me of how he agreed to be with someone, who has seen love only from a distance.

So I get up slowly

Pop the magic pills in my mouth,

And text him " I am sorry"

Because I don't know how to love correctly.