The second stanza of my poem circles in my head, an unrelenting march of words in the numb.
Take another pill
At midnight
Your tired mind is ill
You're not thinking right
Take another pill
You won't want to die
You'll live your lose to will
But you won't feel alive.
I'm foggy and I'm feeling V like a spear in my pancreas.
I lost you somewhere along the way
You're hiding running and I don't want to chase
I love you all the same.
