Little Pills

“It is not seen as insane when a fighter, under an attack that will inevitably lead to his death, chooses to take his own life first. In fact, this act has been encouraged for centuries, and is accepted even now as an honorable reason to do the deed. How is it any different when you are under attack by your own mind?” 

― Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls

These little pills, make me all of me.

Many times, taking one

and sometimes three

I shake my head, tsk tsk, I’m not awake

I sleep with my eyes open

its not all fake

This daylight walker needs to really know

these little pills

aren’t a pretty show

In the noisy stillness of slippery caverns

my madness breeds

like drunks in taverns

I’m held aloft by the chemicals they give

Is this really me,

or the little pills I hid?

Prescriptions are given to those with mental illnesses that produced a variety of effects both positive and negative. The thought occurs to me, is this the real me when I take the pills? Or is this another me produced by them? Do I want to be the real me? or a product of chemicals? Can I be me when under the influence of these treatments? This battle of identity is the primary reason I don’t take psychotropic medicines (even those prescribed), I just wanna be the crazy, insane me. There are however some conditions that are treated with meds which, if the subject is to be in society at large, need to be adhered to. Always seek professional help about going off your meds. 

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Narco Faith

“You don’t look fake when you unconsciously pretend.” – Toba Beta, My Ancestor Was an Ancient Astronaut

The pill went down easy. Within minutes I felt the effects crawl over my soul. My desire assuaged, the direction became clear. Get more of this drug, get more, get more. Addiction’s voice is haunting and nagging, worse than an old wife on the rag. In my gut, I feel a recurring emptiness and my mind is filled with noisy clutter. They dance in an unsettled pattern that revolves around like the moon, the gravity of seriousness holding both of them close. I filled my bottle up with pretty little pills, the things that give me solace in the routine of restless seeking. Shaking the bottle, I looked again at the prescription, in bold letters, FAITH, and in small script below it, “can cause mindless ambling to churches and Tourette’s like expressions of religious clichés.” Damn this Faith, it’s a drug that allows me to feel good, putting icing on the cake of my rebellion, easing my conscience as I continue to act like the devils who I keep company with. I laugh as I sit in church, reporting weekly like I’m on paper and dutifully pissing for a spiritual U.A..  Someday I’ll lay down my bottle and actually commit to a changed lifestyle, instead of a mimicked mockery of a spiritual man.