MediHate

I dump the pills out on my desk listening to the sounds of them dancing across
Sorting them out into piles as I start my week, shuffling them into there own piles
Continuing to do so I make seven piles for seven days of the week.

Sliding each pile into it’s own little cavern into the pillbox, thoughts go through my head
What one of these are keeping my nightmares at bay, keeping me from loosing it.
Keeping me from doing something really fucking drastic, as I over react to what you say.

The pills drop one by one into it’s own cavern as follows by a click of the lid shut.
Almost like I’m locking my mental state up and keeping it in it’s own personal jail.
Having to keep it in a small box, not letting it out to play with the rest of the world.

Who would want to play with it, nobody did before hand, why would someone now
As the fourth day of seven gets poured into it’s own cavern, my soul shutters.
Thinking about what it could have been, what might be if things stopped.

As I slide the final day across the table, I open my eyes.
My brain slowly wakes up, wait a minute, these pills aren’t mine
I’m not the one taking them, they aren’t affecting me in anyway

I have nothing slowing down or curbing the thoughts in my head.
Or curbing my own actions, how I react to things.
No longer I have to feel like I’m tied down with restraints to the bed

What if I was a completely different person.
Perhaps a person with darker thoughts
Is that who I want to be, is that what I want.

Or is it best to stay quiet where people think there’s something wrong with me
Ssssshhhhhhh here they come, all decisions may be dumped on me again.
Don’t say a word, don’t make sudden movements. Be still, like a t-rex is near.

Ken

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