Straight Jacket
The words, they come nary at all
When the meds pollute my system.
The urge to write, it dwindles, yes
It does! This leaves me frustrated
Beyond recall. I feel trapped within
A box of strife, drunk of spirits that
Seem to have come to life in the
Bottles they inhabit. But even them,
They do not hamper my artistic talents.
These pills, they do feel like chains
Upon my spirit and my psyche. Draining
More than any vampire I’ve ever met
In the stories that I write. Those little
Pills, the very ones that are to make
Me a little happy camper, seem to be
A straight jacket placed upon me! I
Must break free of this plight that
Settles over me now, and I become
Listless but drunkenly happy, nonetheless.
(c) 2003 A Riddle