I wish I was dead
and pills won’t fix that
I’m in treatment right now, but some things never change. An illness that never goes away. Something chronic.
‘I only eat once a day.’
‘When’s the last time you ate something?’ he asks
‘Twelve hours ago.’
‘It’s 9pm.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
She lays on the floor looking up at the ceiling.
My life story must be sad.