I made my own medication out of crumpled paper balls and scotch tape. These balls contain everything you said to me, sentences on strips to fill plastic caplets. Each night I take a pill with water or beer to clear my head of the fear that you're dead as a lover to me, I must keep believing that something worth hoping for will reform while I'm sleeping. There's always a rush a few minutes later as my blood accepts the ink- soaked paper and your words coarse through my body and cause it to shake before sleep comes to steal my revelations away. And during the night the paper clots into clumps in my stomach that cause it to twist and convulse, there's are pulses of pains like a knife to my gut as i sweat in my sleep with your memories inside me. But each morning I shit out all the old reminders and flush them down the toilet in a swirl of water. The whirlpool cleanses my brain for a moment, then it's back to the cabinet to resume to torment. Before I pull it open I look at the mirror and I am the same, but my hair has gotten longer. Time has passed and your face fades from my thoughts, and each new day sets me further from the day where I lost you. And it keeps getting easier. Until your voice comes back on a telephone call and you don't know shit about what you want to do with me. It's either yes or no. Choose a fucking answer. The bottle is running low.