she consumed your kisses like a pill marked with the label: happiness 

self-medicating her mental illness with the potential for love; 

a prognosis without a doctor’s presence  

but of course, you didn’t cure anything at all  

because names for medication never have one syllable  

and everybody knows you can’t store a person as an elixir  


she still locks away the tender smile you made before you kissed her 

in her trinket box of memories mostly untrue  

locked away with how frequently she needed to swallow an ‘I love you’ 


but like all SSRIs, the pain subsides then the demons rise with a wrath felt like no other so you consume any remedy that might demise a depression so oceanic or an anxiety that will paralyse  

and that became you  


so, when eventually the monsters in her mind did reawake 

she grappled and tugged for reassurance from you that she would be okay 

but when you told her that you didn’t love her anymore 

her throat felt like it was closing  

and as you walked out her bedroom door  

her heart finished breaking  


because you see, it was already fractured from weeks of your ignoring  

and the realisation that her medication wasn’t working –  

she didn’t just lose you that night  

she was forced to swallow the reality of her plight  

that she had actually lost herself a year before  

when she prescribed you as her antidepressant