Every night I swallow a handful of pills
To keep my mind straight
And from thinking
That “they” are out to get me

There are all shapes and sizes inside my
Medicine dish
With strange names that are
Difficult to pronounce

Strange to think that without these
I would end up residing in some
Mental health facility
But instead I am sitting at a coffee shop

Writing about what could have been
If it wasn’t for those damn pills
That I curse yet allow me
To live an almost normal life

They used to throw people like me
In asylums and lock the doors
Some 50 years ago
Strange to think about that now

Instead I live among you “normals”
Writing, reading and even
Working to try to make the world a little better
Despite its many flaws

All because of those pills
That I curse and dread
And yet granted me
A life that I should not have had

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *