High

A poem about psychoactive pharmaceuticals. Written 03.12.2014

pat

pat

on the other side of

the glass that separates

me from the world

in my cocoon here 

tranquil like the box says

lying, breathing, listening

to those crackling droplets

sedated and separated

not happy - I can't feel that - but

as blithe as I'll ever be

about to fall asleep

you'll evolve like always

and I'm waiting, I truly am

but until you drown me 

’til the next time 

I'll be sat here

with my medicine,

High

Author's Note

The 'you' I talk to is depression. But it can be interpreted any way pleased.