Broken Bottles

I'm afraid.
Maybe that you're dying -
maybe that you're dying before I can fix us.
Most likely that I still can't decide
if I love you or resent you more.

You've become a child in this,
with your hand-me-down skin ten sizes too big
Unprovoked tears and constant need of supervision.
The mere sight of you sickens me
and I can't look you in the eye
without hating everything the world holds.
Some would say I'm more blind than you.

No one makes it out of this alive
but you are supposed to.
How could you let this happen?
You, the one intended to shelter me
keep me safe, so
Don't tell me to be strong
when you're too weak to stand.
Don't expect me to hold them up
when you can't raise your head.

I. will. break.
because I can only stretch so far.
And if that disappoints you
I give up.

One day I'll make a shrine
of broken bottles and crushed up pills
fragments of dreams and old photographs
to remind myself of the good times.
Back when it was okay to hate you.


But until then...
this is all you get.