Soma

A bottle of little white pills
Open, on its side
Strewn across the table
In a pharmaceutical cascade
Just for looks,
For contemplation

They haven’t been taken
They won’t be-
Little round blankets
Of emotional insulation
Making life more bearable
By robbing all sentiment

It’s frightening, simultaneously
Sparking appeal and
Revulsion, some gut feeling
Of not being right, and yet
Apathetic- but is that
A side-effect? Or
A symptom?

Is it worth it?
To forego emotion,
The highest highs
And lowest lows,
Incomparable bliss
And soul-crushing despair
To function “normally”?