content warning: depression, medicine, allusion to self-harm and suicide

It is odd to witness my life
Preparing me for this moment
All my thoughts and actions and trials and failures and efforts leading me here.

Two soap bars, a face towel, a body towel.
White stacked on white on a white bed.

And i am a muddy, soggy self
tucking limbs into this, ugh—
unwelcoming neatness

Only cuts here are paper cuts
Only cords here are hair strands
Only medication here is funnelled to you in iotas—
Too little to do anything useful for an ideating mind.

Same questions over and over.
i go be a broken record for the system.
i was a broken record before, anyways.
Repeating the word “yes”
Repeating the words “i love you”
Repeating the word “sorry”
Repeating the words “please forgive me”

Repeating “i can’t do this anymore”

They ask me the same questions over and over
i am a broken record. They record with their scribbles.

My answer is
“Saturday and Sunday”
My answer is
“Restavit”
My answer is
“i felt ready”
“i told you already,”
“i felt ready—”
“I felt ready to go."