deepundergroundpoetry.com

Blue Capsules

It wouldn't be fair to allow it to trip us in conversation,
nor should I insist on bellowing my take:
You have suffered enough at the hands of opinionists
all be them hopeless romantics, wandering around
the egotistical fields of misunderstanding.

The doctor got his hand up your skirt first:
A slip of paper that you can exchange regularly
for small blue capsules that permit your existence
just the way it is.

They would label us all 'sick'
and they will...
Such vigourous diagnostics
carry a price tag
don't you know?

It has been a torpid list of mistakes
without the requital of change.
You are not so unlike the rest of them.

But, why worry?
Those blue capsules steady your head
as two bastard children cry for love.
Waking up after two bottles of sparkling rose
drunk in the luxury of a park bench.
The men you dedicate fleeting moments to
are essentially void of use,
yet their names reinvent themselves
as prison tattoos on your fattening limbs.

I do wish you well,
but you have so far ignored
the hopeful prospects of change
and sided with the doctor
over professional advice.
I can not be here;
it would be unfair to allow this
to trip us up in conversation
-just another thing, that you carry
 out, devoid of eloquence.

I can but hope that the best
creeps in during your sleep
because your conscious mind
has been unfortunate enough
to get this far
without seeing its face.

Written by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
Published | Edited 5th Jun 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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