It's one more drink;
one more hit;
one more day spent in bed.
It's one more hour of living vicariously through another fictional happy ending sitting stationary staring at the screen set before you;
one more haircut to be the answer to your dissatisfaction;
one more minor manipulation prescribed to fix your devastating self loathing.
It's one more risk;
one more near death experience;
merely one more cut just to focus on the pain.
It's one more surface friend to keep you from even just one moment of terrifying silence;
one more makeshift lover for fear of ever being the one caught alone.
So when do you know when you're just filling the space to numb the ache?
At what point does it become just another way to medicate?
Today.
Today I wasn't ready to let myself figure it out.
