Blue pills are loaded into a shotgun,
Collected in jars with marble soundtracks.
Peel back the label on their containers
And heed their warning:
They are not meant to be tasted, or crushed.
Life is what they enhance,
Tablets that rein over neurological nightmares.
Place them on the tip of your tongue,
Say their name in between panicked breaths,
As the sound of rock music fills your ears with blood
And your chest with lust.
One cannot lie to them in practice,
Only suffer in silence at the sight of an empty prescription bottle.
Take them in gulps when you finish your thought,
They are a virtual reality and masochistic fantasy,
As you become a slave to your mood.
Devour them whole before you get the chance to remember the symptoms.
Memory is not hazy,
Thoughts begin to slow the run on treadmills,
Which makes warmth no longer cold to the touch.
Now that you wake, your mind blows out its fog
And not the memories of dependencies.
These drugs are not for recreational use,
But halt your self-isolating tendencies
And are a hard candy to swallow.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Kalliope
PoetryThis poetry collection explores regret, isolation, philosophy, with a sprinkling of guilt. Historical references are encouraged! If you're just going through the motions of life, whether it be blissful or difficult, these poems are great companions...
