my last...

my last…
never knowing when or why
surrounded by an adoring public who can’t see past my outer core
covering inner wounds with bottles stacked high
kept in dark places...

hidden in cabinets
unknown to one another just to keep the high going
or to make the pain go away
whichever comes first as needed
i sing because i’m happy
and because i’m not…
for those who love me for my gift and not for who I am...
i exhale

whitney r.i.p.