Pictures, pretty pretty

I see the stacks of painkillers, all over
my desk, my drawer, my bed-side table
I tell you, and me, that it’s for
women issues
but I know, you don’t, that it’s for
ODing,
in my dreams

The used lightbulb still lies there too
because I pictured it inside
my mouth, broken

You have no right to judge me
But jugde me, go ahead and
judge me

I don’t breathe evenly, anymore
Hope disappears with every exhalation
You are someone, but I promise
you,
I am no one

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