Tough Pill

Hypothetically of course.

What if?

Several times in the day you’re in pain, sometimes nagging sometimes excruciating, hurts when you sit so you can’t relax, hurts when you lie down so you can’t sleep. Always running on empty, can’t keep anything down. Used to eat extra large pizzas like it’s nothing now a sandwich puts you in the washroom for 45 minutes. Isn’t it ironic? The one thing you really wish you could do, might just happen and it isn’t even your choice. What can you do? Talk about it? To who? You can’t even talk about your feelings, you don’t want to drop a bomb on anyone, they still got their lives.

What if it’s nothing? Make a whole song and dance for what?
Already can’t stand people being fake.

You’re so strong.
You’re so brave.
You can do it.

You can’t run but you got your escapes.

Bottle never fixes anything, just makes you numb.
You’re only babe for as long as the music lasts.
Doesn’t matter what you write down, you can’t make anybody read it.
You can be on camera, doesn’t make you a star.

Your oasis becomes your prison, four walls of peace start closing in, sanctuary becomes suffocating. You convince yourself there’s nothing out there for you but then again history repeats itself. Why reach out to get brushed off? Why shout to be ignored? Why love to be hurt? What little you had to share, they took it all.

They don’t give a fuck. They love you when you’re convenient. They miss you until they get what they wanted. Walk out of your life and don’t even have the decency to close the door.

Every month it gets to the breaking point, it’ll get better, it never does.
Do you remember the last time you were normal? When you went to bed without crying? When you last woke up excited? Why can’t you be like everyone else? Why can’t you be happy?

Pitch black room. Face illuminated by the glow of his computer monitors, he knew he had nothing left. Maybe he’ll do something exciting, spend some time with the people he loved, create some more memories and try to feel alive. A foolish ambition. He was dying. In fact he may as well have died all those years ago, what a wreck of metal and brick, a twisted cacophony of blood and despair. The scars can heal, the wounds may fade but the memories do not. How do you get past something that you relive everyday? It becomes another impenetrable wall, vertical beyond your sight so too high to scale, too wide to traverse around. Throwing his head back he looked up at the popcorn ceiling, there are as many answers there as there were at the bottom of the bottle. He tried to run, as fast and as far away as he could, life caught up. Maybe that was supposed to be the end of the story that night, arguing with someone who’s voice he can’t even remember, a ghost. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. As silent as his phone was, not a beep or a buzz, maybe with the clicks of his keyboard he could find someone who’d listen, someone who’d help, someone who might understand. It’s a tough pill to swallow but maybe he ran out of people who cared.

-Nerd out.