Unwell

-Unwell-
by Keaton Foster



Thy needle
Thy arm
Instruments
Appendages
Reciprocal
Conduits
Straight is the path
To the heart and mind
Thus the soul
Is intertwined
Addicts like me
Often declare
That God won’t judge
That the devil won’t own
But I am so damn alone
In this wicked world
Of so many temptations
I’ve never stood a chance
Designed to fail
A genetic mutation
Of my parents DNA
Two people individually ill
That should have never become one
A pity screw turned into a relationship
Set to self-destruct from the get
Mean the above lines may seem
But of truth they do bleed
Often I can be heard asking
Repetitively repeating
What’s the point
The answer
The one most acceptable
There is none
Doing my time alive
Waiting on certain death
Always higher than the clouds
Tripping over immovable stones
Falling flat on my face
Unwell
What a hell
Sick of life
Sicker of feeling it
So numb I have become
The drugs never wear off
Because the supply is endless
They say that I’m crazy
Insanity is a good defense
But I’m in no court of law
Rather a judgment of mankind
When and if I complain
When and if I point out
The obvious inconsistencies
They just give me stronger meds
Always to ease my ragging mind
They say that my disease
Can of course be controlled
Muted for a limited time
Lessened by the toxic stew
Of psychotropic ooze
Pumped into my veins
What I will further see
What is truly real
Those lines will
Increasingly become blurred
To find relief I must let go
I must break free and disconnect
From what I’ve always understood
Indeed winless is the game
Pointless is the shame
Allowing myself to feel
Unconditional nothingness
Is what must be done
What is said and thus done
Comforts the madness inside
Unwell
Such a tedious spell I’m under
The drugs given soften the edge
Of the hammer being driven
Further into my skull
Fracturing the concept of authenticity
And challenging my ideas on duality
Those more in charge than I
The ones with the pens and pads
And the pharmacist of speed dial
Like to further say that I am at risk
Of being one to harm myself
Bullshit indeed
Because despite everything
I know that these very hands
Are not the ones holding any
Blunt force instruments
Being used to cave in my skull…


Unwell
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014.