She places her hands on the counter, next to them
they glare back at her from inside their prison
A constant reminder of weakness
They make intense eye contact
Until she blinks away
And allows a tear to slip down her cheek
She refuses to let even one pass through her rigid lips
The sun peaks through the shade
Causing the orange of the container to reflect a shine of life
Life cannot be solved with pills
But what if they numb this pain?
If she concedes, is that a way of giving up or trying harder?
The bottle is in her grasp
She opens the lid
Two small-coated pills slide down into her palm
Her hand feels heavy
Take it and move on with your life.
But she doesn’t want to put a constraint on her mind
She wants to be in control
Because living in depression is better than not living at all
The bottle is placed back on the counter with a firm
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Assistant Ed: Zenna James/Ed: Bryonie Wise