Dear Doctor
What pain do you seek of me,
in screams that can be heard?
How can I make it crystal clear,
with each, and every word?
My medication, poison pills,
upon prescription slip.
Tis all that you will give to me,
T’ help with bumpy trip.
Sodden I do slump in place
in tears that I have cried.
What will the treatment cost me now,
if not the suicide?
My veins should I give to you?
For payment in my blood.
Or would you just inject a drug,
I rather think you would.
You say that I am just unwell,
my mind it needs to heal.
Then medicate me to the hilt,
til nowt there is to feel.
Emotions that’re now suppressed,
always will break free.
Fix the problem at the source,
supply the therapy.
But this thing to me denied,
the reasons are unknown.
And then you go and wonder why,
I feel I stand – alone.
A § M
20/02/2018
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So well put, easy to relate to, sadly
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