​Seamstress

By Alexandria Fridel

I drown in drugs, dreaming of a better mind.

Praying that this high will make me feel less confined.

This needle isn’t for sewing

But the agony just keeps growing

I’m trying to stitch my life back together.

To keep the pieces from withering away, securing it to a tether.

Maybe it’s just not meant to be,

Maybe a good life just isn’t meant for me.

My high is the only thing I have left.

It helps me forget, all the pain that I heft.

A muddled mind helps me survive.

It keeps the broken bits of me alive.

Please believe me when I say I’m not insane,

I just can’t live without help with all of the pain.