when hell becomes home

i weep in

her shoulders

and ruin it all

because sometimes

i wish i was back

in the ward.

back with kids

who wanted to kill themselves

on the daily

and had to shower

with the nurses watching,

whose identities

were reduced

to acronyms

on a whiteboard

because maybe

that's all we were.

s.

sra.

ed.

i wish that was

all i was.

god,

i wish i was

nothing.

things would be easier

if i was dust.

sometimes i miss

the numbness,

the shaking shoulders

and tear-streaked palms.

sometimes i don't think

i want to recover.

sometimes i think

i'm better off with my demons,

as long as i treat them like lovers.

five medications.

not a damn step of progress.

don't say i can't be fixed

because i'm not broken-

don't make me scream-

i can't be fixed

because i'm shattered.

i hate myself.

i hate these bones.

i hate how i built a home

in my sorrows.