I simply became a cloud,
and
       drifted
along the sky's set path.
because after hating myself for
                                                      so      
 ­                                                           long,
and losing my soul,
I finally found peace at the              of a bowl.
                                              bottom

And this led to losing myself again,
but
       worse,
forgetting that I had even lost myself,
including
how,
         why,
                   or
                       when.
I was lost, and wasn't even looking,
was never planning on getting back up,
so I found myself at the bottom of a red plastic cup.
And with my head beneath that seat,
wearing my porcelain crown of shame,
I felt my life
                    had
                          been
         ­                         cheated,
who I was, was not who I became.
I saw myself looking back at me,
a familiar image I thought I once knew.
"Who the **** do you think you are," I said.
And I replied,
"I
    used
             to
                  be
                       you."

Orange capsules of condensed vitamin C
Tumble out onto my cracked,
Outstretched palm,
As I arch my spine towards the bathroom sink,
Scooping lukewarm water from the faucet
Into my half closed mouth-
The tiny pills clog my upturned throat:
Just two of the numerous solutions
To a world too numb
To contest.
I've never felt more alive,
Than when I'm drowning my body
With handfuls of tap water
And magic remedies bottled up and
Marketed to a world
Afraid of growing old.
Lining the wall of local drug stores,
One isle over from office supplies
And scented laundry detergent.
Multicolored, multipurpose-
Labels proclaim the fountain of youth
To anyone alive enough to fear it.
There's never enough of reality
To reach our depleted veins
Through the ever present forms
Of the world. Enough isn't
Enough, until we've convoluted it into a tiny
Plastic oval, and forced it down the throats
Of those well enough to swallow it.
Pharmaceutical companies proclaim their
Daily gospel in the linoleum streets
Of hospital waiting rooms
And local grocery stores,
As I cross my heart and count the
Hours until my next prescribed dose
Of complacency. Who knew happiness
Could have the bitter after taste of
Vitamin B or
The credibility of Zoloft.
The sandman has been replaced by Benadryl,
While creativity lies stagnant
Beneath adderall's indifferent thumb.
Obsession is a 26 letter alphabet,
Strung together by a bunch of deficiencies,
Incoherently droning on
To the burden of Man,
And flickering neon light
Of a drive-thru pharmacy.

I have the 'flu and it's Wednesday morning and my bones are groaning,but am I moaning?
YESSSS..
it's what men do when they get the 'flu and the world as they knew it comes to an end.
Please send for the medic,make it quick 'cause I am sick and while you're about it can you make me some soup.