four months

a poem about struggling with depression, and addiction.

Today I'm four months clean,

But it doesn't feel like anything to celebrate,

Four months isn't even a year,

It's barely anytime at all,

And when I'm old and gray---

If I make it that far---

It'll feel like a moment, a snap of your fingers. 

When I have so many bad thoughts,

And urges screaming at me to pierce my skin,

To make myself bleed,

To collect all the sharp objects in the world

Because I deserve it,

Being clean doesn't feel

Clean. 

Author's Note

TW: Self-Harm, Depression