You’ll feel better

Existence passes in thick miasmas
of burgundy and indigo.
So I focus all my energy on some
far off island in the distance,
and wonder how to get there.

My silence inside is occasionally
interrupted by indignant pulses of anger.
Nausea accelerating up to grace
my tongue with its presence.
Exhaustion tackles my will, pulling
it down into a customary death grip.

Have I got an illness, or am I just living?
I honestly can’t remember the difference.
Take some pills now. You’ll feel better.
Hammering stress on what I am required to do,
Not bothering with the trivial trouble
of how to do it.

So let us all hence your wise words.
Oh, be still for your compassionate presence,
offering things you have yet to give.
I am not willing to drag the lifeless weight
of your ‘care’ with me.
Over the traps and snares
I am set clenched fists
and determined to run through.

When you look under your high horse,
to see murky depths holding you steadfast.
I will dismiss you with
the repulsively familiar words:
'You'll feel better'.