My heart is like a cavern of large familiar rooms,
with many more dark and unexplored beneath them.
To venture forth and see what lies beneath
is mostly painful, its hard to go without a push,

a life event, a heartbreak or such.
It is then I am launched through tiny crevices
searching for the way back to familiar,
further from the surface yet closer to the center
or beyond, to deeper, darker, thinner tunnels
leading to Hell; or China.

It is not the surfacing in China that bothers me,
at least I know I'd walk on solid ground,
instead I worry about weakened walls,
hollow spaces from digging and searching
collapsing into nothingness,
falling into emptiness,

a freefall in utter darkness for eternity
with no sound except the sound of hell approaching.

The pills I take at bedtime, blue as starling eggs
are supposed to hatch the inner me, crack
the thin blue shell of my social maladjustment,
instead they make me feel like ****
but I take them anyway.

Its not as if another color can make it any better
red or green or yellow doesn’t  matter
they all ****, I get **** results anyway.

the red make me angry,  
the green make me nauseous,
the yellow turn me coward,
afraid to leave the house.
The blue? They bleed
their color In everything I do.

These ******* pills are such a crutch.
I wouldn’t be surprised if pills were made
from dead men's bones, stolen from graves
and crushed into dust then blended with color,
red, green, yellow and  blue. Don’t forget
the blue, especially the blue because in the end

everything ends up blue,

blue as the pills I take at bedtime.
Blue as starling eggs.