Escape. Cancer. Addiction.

Alchoholism. My escape.
Cutting. My addiction.
Depression. My cancer.
Self-mutilation. Drinking. Mental illness.
My worst enemies, my dearest friends.
Who started what?
Does the sickness start the addiction to the medication?
Or does my addiction become a disease?
Is my escape the problem? Or is it the side effect of addiction? A symptom?
This doesn't begin to illustrate my confusion.
My anger.
My pain.
I'm so sick.
Because this is all my fault.
Love is a disease. Its a silent killer. An anthrax.
Sweet, beautiful poison. Found on his lips.
My face is white-I'm dying.
Too sick to move.
I don't want to. I'd rather just lay here...