Abuse, abuse is all we know.

It’s what we’re good at.

You can see it in the eyes.

Spelled in cigarette smoke.

The vape clouds.

Each yellowing smile.

Abuse, it’s what we’re good at.

Our unspoken bond.

It’s our courage.

Our rebellion.

Thinking ourselves to an early grave.

Then paying a stranger to lay our roses.

Forcing ourselves to sleep in a cell we call a bedroom.

Abuse, it’s all we know.

It’s what we’re good at.

What keeps us going.

What keeps us tough.

One drink is never the cure.

One love is one too few.

Abuse, it’s what we’re good at.

Denying right for wrong.

Selling ourselves short.

Sleeping before death.

Cradling despair.

Overthinking till we can’t tell if we ever thought at all.

Abuse, abuse is all we know.

It’s terrifying to grip.

But hardest to let go.

We crawled before we walked.

And sang before we spoke.

The message mouthed for nonsense—

I’m starting to understand.

Let’s hope it’s not too late.