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