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The Pill
I find it funny how people think they can solve their problems with a pill.
So small and insignificant.
In so many different colors.
Yet they think it can fix me.
My problems go far beyond some simple pill.
Pills made me feel worse,
Made me feel sick,
Made me feel sad.
They gave me the prescription to get better,
Yet I used the pills for bad.
Overdosing was so easy when they provided what I needed.
Ten pills here,
Thirteen pills there,
Another twenty here.
The twisting in my stomach.
The agony that I felt.
Was all because of the drugs that they dealt.
Did they feel bad when they had to pump my stomach?
Did they feel bad when it didn’t work?
Did they regret giving me the means to end my life?
When I choked on my own bile?
When I didn’t wake up?
When my heart stopped beating?
Did they not cry and send their regrets to my family,
While I was being examined in the morgue?
Did they attend my funeral and watch as I was being placed in the ground?
Did they try to comfort my six year old niece who was crying for her auntie?
Did they explain to her that the medication was meant to help not harm?
Did they explain to her that they knew I was suicidal?
Yet gave me this medication to be taken unsupervised!
Explain that to this child who’s lost her surrogate mother.
Explain that to the cousin’s she will never have.
Explain that to me.
