Pillsy-Turvy

Pillsy-Turvy

 Damn this pen
So silent
Graceless in hands that might as well be cold and forgotten
Once there was flow and peace and so many words
Now the power has fled
The pills oh god these pills
Like Novocaine
Numbing and peaceful capsules
A little dead inside every day
But oh so much easier to live
Calm inside
But at the cost of the words
The power and the fire and the scream
So lost
All of it
All of me
Quiet inside the howling void, but still so reckless and full of noise
Just dampened down
Trapped
Locked away
Raging against the bars
The prison of these pills
This condition
Mentally ill
Without the old mind
And still missing the new
So easy to be alive now
But it lacks the luster
The all-encompassing drive to words
To phrases descriptive and piercing
Where once there was a spinning whirling terror of pain and longing
Now there is numb hollowness
Sure, I function better
But the price
Oh dear god the cost
Why must I be a writer without a pen
Better to have never felt the word fire
The lust for the phrase
Better to have never for a moment felt a gift
Or a passionate desire for the deeper the larger
Better it were all lost
Forgotten
Where are there pills to take away the passion the fire
But none to remove the memory of its caress