June 7, 2010

The microwave door clicks open revealing a steaming cup of tea.

I carefully grasp the handle and carry it across the room.

My body relaxing into the couch, I taste the sugar left on my lips.

Accompanied with a sigh, I stretch my arm to the floor.

After searching, my fingers wrap around the smooth container.

The pills shake in their half empty bottle.

One, two, three fall out of the orange bottle into the palm of my hand.

Sitting on my dry tongue, the powder starts to dissolve, a bitter taste lingering.

A swig of tea rinses away the lump, slipping down my throat.

My eyes shut and my head rests back on the forgiving, cool leather.

The bottle falls to the ground, rattling, retreating back under the couch.

Eventually the sleep takes over, my eyelids becoming heavier.

Trudging to my bed, I chug the rest of my tea, dropping the cup in the middle of the room.

A yawn escapes my mouth, a final sound before I drift off to sleep.

The night goes by, as does the next day, starting this cycle over again.


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