Coping

How can something that feels so empty

Be divvied up into 50 separate parts?

I keep the loneliness in my liver,

and the anger around my heart.

Coping isn’t something I’m used to.

Not even the new clothes I bought

are keeping me from crawling out of my skin.

They probably don’t cover enough of it.

Only when drunk am I reminded that

I didn’t take a double-edged sword to the back

for the sake of suffering.

Sober, I am merely an amalgamation of

bittersweet affirmations I don’t really believe.

They promise growth on the horizon;

‘it only feels real after raining,

hearts only heal after breaking’.

morning comes and

we’re back to sweet nothings.

My head pounds. Either because of the

ten vodka red bulls I had last night

or the nine and a half hours it has spent

begging my heart to stop giving it bad dreams.

It’s Sunday morning now and alongside last night’s apple I had for dinner,

I’m regurgitating break up cliché’s I saw on pinterest in my desperate attempt to cope.

Because what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.