A belly full of poison

You swallowed the poison before you could defend against it. Cradled, no, clenched, in the arms of one who could not love anyone, least of all herself, you swallowed the poison from her breast. Her words of despair colored with contempt filled your ears as you sought sustenance from she who would have let you starve if she could. Nay, she did. Starved of love and affection, you gorged on the hatred she spewed even as you grew in her womb. You devoured the words that branded you worthless; a useless piece of trash that would have been better off on the end of a twisted hanger. You guzzled her derision, her belittling, that mirrored and reinforced that which was fed to you on the streets, in the movies, in school, in books, newspapers and magazines.

You had a belly full of poison before you were five.

You tried. You really did. You wanted to do and be all that you could be. To be all that she wanted and needed you to be. But nothing was the firm and oft-repeated answer in both cases.You are nothing and will always be nothing, was the mantra of your childhood and adolescence.

By 14, you were looking for the antidote to the invisible poison putrefying your mind and body. The salve to soothe the festering wound from which spilled your very soul.

You did find your cure, with its silent death knell, that, with every bottle, merely added to a belly already full of poison, hastening your rendezvous with oblivion.