Unspilled

The people I call friends,

And ones that I once knew.

I wonder,

Is that enough to hold onto?

Pieces that don’t fit,

Words that do not rhyme,

Why am I,

Always so out of time?

I’m never really capable,

Of solving this puzzle,

Of what I want and what I need,

I never find the in-between.

I just write stupid rhymes,

To the clack of a keyboard, out of toon.

Wondering, “Is there something really wrong with you?”

Handfuls of pills,

Medical visits all the time,

But not one can be put into a rhyme.

A catchy take on life,

A void to fill,

You see these topics,

Are the ones best left un-spilled.

And even though I rhyme,

I can make a tune to catch.

Something will never match.

It’s like a flaw in my brain,

Driving me insane,

Because no matter where,

I still feel bare.

A wasteland, a desert,

Filled with dry heat.

Something in my head,

Just never likes the beat.

Maybe I’ll never be happy.

Maybe the pills will help,

But, maybe, I’m just tired,

Of sitting at that counter,

Of being off that tune,

Relying on a drug,

That costs four-ninety nine,

But with a co-pay, only two.

I’m really just afraid,

Of masking up a problem,

Hiding in my dreams,

Hoping someone else will solve them.