“We are not Groupies. Groupies sleep with rockstars because they want to be near someone famous. We are here because of the music, we inspire the music. We are Band Aids.” - Penny Lane
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Bath of band-aids.
C.Joy.
2024
I’m sinking.
In a bathtub filled with band-aids.
Letting my head drift under,
As the bandages peel off my skin
And infect the water with my dried blood stains.
Disgusting, my lungs as they flood,
Drowning in what should have helped me.
There is no water now,
Just peach colored adhesives
Sticking to the walls, clogging the drain, blinding me, suffocating me.
My cuts and bruises exposed and cold,
Frantically trying to attach the once-sticking things to
The lines I’ve carved into myself.
They’re soaked, they’re dead, they’re broken.
Save me. Save me. Save me. Save me.
Heal me. Heal me. Heal me. Heal me.
Let me die. Let me go. Let me drown.
As I choke on my band-aids, the water overflows.
When they find my body, they’ll see
How hard I tried
To save myself.
Before they all at once lost their stick.
And I lost my last breath to the abyss
Of a bathtub filled with band-aids.
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