“Take Two and Call Me in the Morning”

I’m tired.
I’ve been hospitalized, sanitized, exorcized,
Called a “psychological enigma” by the best psychiatrist on the East Coast.

I’ve been misdiagnosed, misunderstood, mistreated for illnesses that I don’t have
And despite it all, they still want me to take these
little
pink
pills.

Do I have room for one more?
Next to the blue,
the white
white.
and the yellow prescribed,
How many chemicals will be running through my bloodstream?
How much damage will be done to my brain?

I should probably be concerned, but the Prozac doesn’t allow it.

Instead I feel a soulless sense of bliss
General d i s s o c i a t i o n
Loss of sense of self
That familiar, yet confused demeanor.

“I know I have opinions, I just don’t know what they are.”

Though I’ve searched far and wide,
Trying on personalities as one may try on a coat,
Examining the pockets, looking for any hint of my ideas or beliefs
That dissolved with the brightly colored capsules I swallow
Once,twice,threetimes daily.

I’ve been medicated halfway to death and back
I’ve gone through addiction, tolerance, withdrawal
Without ever putting a toe out of |legal boundaries|
And despite it all, they still want me to take these
little
pink
pills.

Is this the medically advanced nation we are so proud of?

“Wonder drugs” have adverse effects
When administered in copious doses.
These colorful k.i.l.l.e.r.s.
Are much more potent than flavored vitamins.

And despite it all, they still want me to take these
little
pink
pills.

I think I’ll refuse.