the type of oil medicine doesn’t cure

i sort of feel like an oil spill,
people try to clean me up, medicate me well,
but it doesn't make sense,
because the only person who
could ever fix me was you, not a pill,
and darling, you left,
so what happens to me now?

you told me i could save myself if i really wanted,
that i could keep the oil out, and i told you i couldn’t.

nothing makes sense,
you stare at my inner depths
but nothing catches your eye—
of course the tumorous mess cannot be removed,
therefore the liquid soaks the floor
and the floor absorbs the liquid.
my cranium is engulfed whole by this
fluid and soon it seeps to my eyes
and my blindness is over the top and
everything is extreme, but what is real?

this is where i could do with a fix
to feel alive again,
let the magic bounce from each corner
of your mouth and fall down
a throat which is breathless from lies and pity.
i’ve started to inhale my lucid dreams, and i’m
listening to the disjointed ones my brain couldn’t stop.
i am scared of losing myself to something doctors
tell me keeps the oil out.
i’m scared the oil will never be out.
i just never knew it was possible to fall behind,
to fall this behind.