I’d pick up the phone if I could,
conversation is a terrain best left unexplored,
I’ve locked all the windows and doors
to secure the room inside my head,
every thought and action hangs
precariously on a thread,
my tongue is tied so awkwardly,
I’d rather cut it out than speak,
I can’t even begin to describe
exactly what lies beneath,
there’s more to us than skin and bone,
it’s best I’m left alone,
you can try to contact me
but nobody’s ever home,
all these words inside my mind
make very little sense
the weight to articulate my feelings
has broken my defence.
I’m bouncing off the walls and ceiling,
these pills I swallow have masked all feeling,
I’m agoraphobic, none transparent,
and through it all it’s become apparent
that happiness has upped and left
and I can’t coax it back
it’s been beaten so profusely
by a “wonder pill” called Prozac
and a cocktail of other vile
questionable drugs,
it’s as if each one of my neuro-receptors
is smothered in pharmaceutical hugs,
no wonder I can’t get up,
no wonder I can’t feel love,
there’s no counter balance to my despair,
and worst of all, I don’t care
I just can’t seem to locate myself
I know I’m in here somewhere,
as I stagnate staring at the wall,
I can’t help but wonder
what’s the point in it all?
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