and make them selves at home beneath my memories, it will make no difference how many pills i take to release them.
because their at home.
and feel safe among my thoughts.
and each time i've swallowed those white fucking ovals, each small imbalance stares it in the eye and screams bloody murder.
expecting me to do something about it.
but i can't.
mom's waiting there.
watching me.
telling me to swallow.
fucking bitch.
