Collapsed. Surviving without air.
Not too long ago,
I lived a Fantasy;
A life of health
and revelry.
I used to laugh.
I used to run.
I used to Feel,
Some days I’d won.
But, now I live
Right down the street
From the pharmacy
And the Five doctors
I see a week.
And From the place
Where I Felt the pain.
And From the place–
I’d lost everything.
And every now and then
I’m sad.
And every now and then
I’m mad!
And every now and then
I’m glad…
But am I really?
I don’t know.
At night the pain
Comes back to me.
They say it’s in my head
Or in my dreams.
But who are they
To know such things?
Is it hard to breathe–
Or just anxiety?
Did I take the medicine
They gave to me?
So, I take out the bottles
And count down the pills,
And try to back-calculate
From when they were Filled.
Most nights I take Five,
And on good days there’s Four,
And on the bad ones
I take even more.
And I remember me
At twenty-three.
Good health,
and revelry.
But now I’m twenty-Four
How is this Fair?
and, which symptom’s
that For?
I lay in the bed
While you sit in a chair.
You say it’s not comfortable.
But, how could you dare
To complain about comfort?
Sweetie, life isn’t Fair.
And every now and then
I’m sad.
And every now and then
I’m mad..
And every now and then
I’m glad…
But am I really?
I don’t know.