Matdredalia

I drag my aching body from the sofa And listen to the chiming of fifteen empties The sun is rising, but there has been no rest for the wicked And even when my head hits the pillow My dreams will deny my peace The cellophane crinkles in my pocket with each step A reminder of my sweet fixation As I take stock of my surroundings and thoughts I inhale deeply and close my eyes As I realize how tightly spun I've let myself become The ache behind my eyes, and in my bones The face in the mirror that I don't recognize I start drawing parallels and I see the lines Between myself and the chemically challenged Growing more and more thin eve

And tell me If I lay in my watery grave like Ophelia gone over to madness in the breaking cold of her lover's scorn, would you love me then like you loved me once? Would you be my Hamlet? Would you swear your love after denying it so? Would the truth come out that it had never been hatred, but pained love coursing through your broken vein. Would you damn me to hell only to then sing my praises as you once had, as the angel that once saved your soul? Tell me now, and tell me true because as it stands, there is very little clinging me to this tainted life. In my final hour, could I change your cruelty and make amen