“A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.” ― Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects You look at me in utter confusion, you have seen it, haven't you? The patterns, the cycles I drive myself into. The things I do over and over knowing fully well how bad they are for me, How damning they are, these things I do. You saw me drink down that hot coffee, And said I was self-harming. I wasn’t, my father taught me to Gulp down all my disappointments, one word at a time And hold the poison gracefully in my voice box, So, all you can now hear is a sick gurgling sound But the deep blue of my skin is very well covered. You never asked me why I called you at 4 in the morning, Begging for you to pick me up, From my ex’s place. You see my grandmother told me once, Long ago, That good women worship their men, Agrees and accepts, nods and never says no. I’m not a good woman anymore, And I’m glad. You didn’t say anything when you saw me Sitting a little too close to the furnace. I was warming my cold heart, Sometimes the ice becomes too heavy for me to handle, To be a human sometimes is a wonderful yet unattainable fantasy. You gave me the benefit of doubt, When I said I was unknown to the fact that my new lover Was blissfully married, When I told you that it was a mistake, And also, when I told you this won’t happen again. I don’t think it was a surprise when you Found me almost dead, At your doorstep. You still offered me a glass of water and an abundance of love. But you see mother warned me of people like you. The pagans of love, stay away she said they all leave. That is why I didn’t wait, I departed. You told me once that I was badly broken, Irreparable. I won't agree or disagree. I may sometimes deviate towards comfort, Because that’s all I've known. Poison has worked too well on me But lately its losing touch. The only blue thing now is the sky And if you listen closely you can hear me hum.