Morning dew trickled off my eyelashes

Like an afterthought of last night’s storm

I fell asleep drowning in my pillowcase 

Trying to dry out the rivers in my eyes as if to prove that this is the saddest I’ll ever be

 

I take comfort in knowing we shattered like a vase

All these imperfect pieces that will never fall back into place

I take less comfort in knowing this vase is my heart

Every time you drop it I’m left molding it back together 

Using what little self esteem I have left as adhesive 

 

The marks on my arms must have come from

The thorns of the corsage you slipped onto my wrist

The bullet hole in my chest must come from the number of times you’ve shot me down

 

Once again I welcome depression into my home with open arms like a good friend

He stays so long that pain turns into pattern

Like Stockholm’s syndrome I will fall in love with my prison

 

On the days that I’m not burying myself into work 

I am burying myself into my own pillow

On those days I am so far gone that my bed starts to resemble a casket

 

It is the day of my funeral, attendance: 1

It is me, witnessing my own collapse

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