I am a xanax machine
I am a xanax machine.
I don't feel anymore.
Maybe I do but I'm not really sure.
I still look at your photos, but instead of adoration I look at them in an attempt
to figure out what I feel. Is it adoration still?
Or is it contempt?
I asked you to show me you care and I got punished. I got manipulated into staying to find out if you care or not. Is my curiosity really that strong? It's a lot stronger than the drinks I pour, or my love for myself.
Should I stay?
How many days has it been exactly?
I asked you to step up, but the only thing stepping up is my prescription strength.
I check your online status to figure out how long I've been ignored
All I wanted was to be shown I matter. Now, some days I can't tell if I matter or not. Most days I can't tell. I wanted to know I was worth something to somebody. But the only thing worth anything is how much this little amber vial is to my sanity
Five, six, seven
I don't even wait the allotted time in between them anymore.
Mix it with alcohol and down it.
Eight. Nine. Ten.
Maybe one day I'll feel again.