oh darling, oh darling, oh darling

They say take a long hot bath and open your wrists
- yes, this is going to be one of
those
poems-
but isn't it easier to take a quick shower
and bite your nails until the edges bleed?

They say three boxes of painkillers
and a bottle of vodka, but isn't it easier
crying in the kitchen with your feet bare
to take two more pills than you would for a headache
and knock it back with a fizzy drink -

they told me practice made perfect
long before they told me the rules of wanting to lay down
and die. So you stand in the doorway,
hair wet and curling water down your back,
always two more pills in your fist than last time,
always a little more whiskey in your coke.

To die as you lived: unglamorous,
unimpressive, and always
always
worried about not being good enough
at the only thing you seem to be good at.

Dying is an art, and you can't paint to save your life.

Your hair smells like cheap shampoo. You swallow
every pill at once, never think of taking them one at a time.
Sleep a little heavier every night,
you are nearly ready to take your training wheels off.