Withdrawal

Seven years of the same pills.

I feel like I've been sat on a slowly rusting swing,

until I'm flush with cold mulch and the birds are picking at me.

I have been decaying for seven years. I am not sure if that is medical,

or just who I am.

But I am trying to learn.

I cut my doses. I feel it on the fifth day.

I feel the anxiety, as familiar and unknown as a godmother's gift on your birthday.

I bite my lip, and try to ration the hallucinations as just that.

But I drift on the roads when it's dark, and the light burns me in the day.

I force myself to not react- to not do anything I wouldn't with the pills.

But I've never been good at sense, as I was as destructive with them as without.

I shake, and I'm pale, and I wake most mornings drenched in sweat shivering with bile in my mouth. I smile around it all, and force food through clattering teeth to satiate the masses.

I try not to dwell. Try not to even allow a conscious thought to linger, because it will make me sick. I am as dizzy as a drunk with none of the fun. With just the reminder of my condition.

I do not cry about it. I do not ache. I feel so sickly, that I cannot rationalize emotion.

Perhaps that is best. My emotions have never made sense.

Maybe on the eighth year they will.