On my best days, I think I can be
well-rounded and whole, social
and clean. I think it isn’t my fault
I know that I can recover, rebuild

On my worst days, I know I can’t
that relapse is constant
that it was my fault, that I was
rotten to the core – and everyone
knows it

Most days I suffer – most days
I take pills, I get by
it happened, neither here nor there
and I am constantly surviving

Take from me overgrown paths
relatives, ignorance, bloody noses
take chip shop dinners and screaming
missed homework – and give me
my childhood back


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