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Precious Tablets

a rambling poem inspired by me running out of my antidepressants before I can get my script refilled

By CT IdlehousePublished about a year ago • 1 min read

How can a pill deprive my mind

Of good thoughts in its absence?

I must have lost a few precious tablets

In unreachable darknesses

And cracks between appliances.

/

I loathe that my mind depends

Upon a substance I cannot create

From my own sustenance.

The wretched old men

Seek to steal my lifeline away

And contain me within a confining pen.

/

My brain is a sponge

That operates at half capacity

Without my remedies

Or a glimpse of the sun.

Am I no better than a garden plant?

I must be nourished and watered

And fed shit like a mushroom bed?

/

The nightmares creep into my mind

Like spiders into hidden webs,

I am detained within limblocked rigor

As my imagined demons play with my head.

My nerves are rubbed raw

And do not shield me from ghosts

Playing with my memories

Like cats play with string.

/

I have to run

But my legs are sunk in concrete

My arms feel heavier than stone

And do not swing

At my sides.

I am not nearer to the other side,

I am sinking

Sinking faster, faster

My breathing shallows

Let me break the surface

Of my lucidity.

/

I wish for a mind

That did not torture me,

That did not scream for a pill

Like a child screams for sweets.

Let me be okay

Let me be human

Let me be alive

Let me be myself

Is it too much to ask?

Stream of Consciousnesssad poetry

About the Creator

CT Idlehouse

I write stories and articles. Sometimes they're good.

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    Written by CT Idlehouse