24 hour sign posted outside of the over night pharmacy in a town where it seems to be night the majority of the time he sits in his room and counts the cars that hiss by his window anxiety starts at his feet, and numbs them as it makes its way up to his neck and strangles him in the high of another attack his mind is a galaxy of concoctions his pain meds, cough syrup, happy pills swirl around with the blood on the white marble sink until it creates an unsaturated rainbow of a man's grievances the 24 hour pharmacy is open to satisfy your 2 a.m. needs of a fix when you suddenly decide you can't continue the 3 a.m. decision to end it all the 3:30 a.m. promise that maybe if you just get some sleep, it will go away in the morning the 4 a.m. insomnia that leads to bloodshot eyes at 5 and the overdose pharmacy will still be there as you struggle to breathe; drowning in the ocean you've created