I spend much of my life
within the confines of my mind
Some days I am unsure
Whether I am dead or Alive

But the medication that I cling to
removes the existential fear
and allows my thoughts to relax
yet, it also seems to suppress my wonder

Without the pills,
I can intently watch myself write
As each stroke of my small wrist
Leaves grey stains across the blank page

With them, I can feel happiness
I can detach myself from life's pain
and realize my distractions
instead of permitting them to anchor my heart

But with my medicine I cannot create
not in the ways I wish to
They build a border between substance and surface
while it blocks out the depression
it also limits my humanity

Yet, if I were to quit taking them
the darkness would return to haunt my world
strangling my limbs, until I have no will to fight
or even to move for that matter

Without them, I can expend myself
in this art that has kept my heart beating
My emotions can freely guide my movements
in the hopes of creating something beautiful

But those pills have also saved my life
and yet, they have a dark side too
The anxiety they breed produce
such a significant strain on my actions
that I can't tell if I'm truly living

So as I sit in this barren hallway
listening to the echoes that disrupt the silence
I wonder whether my temporary refrain from my "lifelines"
will lead to my success or my demise.