Bittersweet Pills

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Bittersweet Pills

I heard legends of medication killing your creativity.
Myths of zombified minds and nothing behind the eyes.
I didn't believe it, and even if I did, i believed it was worth it,
To give up my lifeline for a reason to live,
Tear away my poetry and start a new page.
My story has a distant ending now,
Potential for a future,
And the jagged pill that sticks to the walls of my throat each morning
Has given me pure joy and a lust for life.
However, these fables were not untrue, but merely mistranslated.
You see, I haven't written a single thing since my suicidal ideation has ceased,
Because my poetry feeds on raw ache and terminal disease.
A daily dose of cyanide, to kill off the artist in me,
And everyday for him I grieve,
But he no longer sits on my lungs, and now I can breathe.

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