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Apr 2019
Zoloft has killed my poems and my erections.
the unfortunate side effects of getting well.
my pen won't mark this paper,
and my ***** hangs it's head in disappointment.
they look me in the face and ask 'why?'
I try to tell them,
about the constant discomfort,
the urge to peel off my skin and escape,
how my mind fixates on misery.
they seem to understand as well as a ball point pen and a flacid ***** could.
their tiny voices squeak
'we want you to be happy'
and I think they mean it
the three of us wonder if the writing will get easier.
the three of us wonder what the point of happiness is without a working ****.
the three of us wonder if we are useless without each other.
nsp
Written by
nsp  31/M/San Francisco
(31/M/San Francisco)   
378
     Azaria, CLARYT, Lucas Hilliard, ymmiJ and ---
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