SICK NOT BROKEN

(a postmodern sonnet paring)

i.  i just don't wanna be  
   
i just don’t wanna be here any more  
i’m tired of the days just dragging on  
life spent just thinking how i’ll close the door  
just every thought’s another minute gone  
   
it’s all i have to make it through the day  
so when the hell did i become his thing  
who simply wants to get the fuck away  
convinced that i’ve got nothing left to bring  
   
i’ve got no po'ms or songs inside of me  
it’s plain i’ve let this show run way too long  
with every look there’s nothing left to see  
but seeing every way i don’t belong  
   
so one day soon i’ll simply disappear  
when blackness even blackens out my fear    


ii. Citalopram

My frien-emies have finally gone away
The screed inside my head has finally ceased
For you, what seems to be a normal day,
For me is like from Hell’s torment released.

I can’t remember when they were not there
To tell me that I’m fat, I’m strange, I’m wrong.
Debating every "fail" to show they "care,"
And showing everywhere I don’t belong.

With half of one small pill that simply shows
I’m only sick, I’m not a broken one.
That I don’t have to suffer future blows,
Or hearing “no one cares if you were gone.”

I close my eyes to hear my silent mind.
A sound my thoughts could never hope to find.


Author’s Note:  From my lifelong experience with depression and being trapped in my own mind and taking an antidepressant for the first time and finally being alone in my own head… There is a way out...