In my head I scream,
Struggling to hold onto myself
With recovery comes decay.
My soul is rotting,
Spreading infection around my vital organs.
My heart beats out of time
And my lungs struggle for oxygen.
Yet somehow my brain keeps whirring.
Forgotten memories play out on my eyelids,
Like a cinema showing the horrors of my past.
I sometimes wish they had never medicated the rotting of my brain,
Perhaps then I’d be happy.