I felt my heart
slowing,
the hollow
in the chest
grew into
a hole.

I took another
a pill
and then
another just to
chase the
three others
I had taken
only  moments
before.

Again my
thoughts
turned to
all of the
pills I had
eaten.

I counted
my servings
by the
twos and threes.

And yet
somehow I was
still alive.

Suffering and sweating,
while openly
negotiating
with the voices
in my head.

Pills aren't
always meant
to cure.

Most are here to
help you cope
and some can
even provide
a hopeless fool
with foolish  hope.

They're prescribed
by physicians
who'll never
really care.

They'll keep you
breathing
long enough to
medicate
your mind
to pieces.

They should
be called
Magicians for
their ability to
turn your temporary
worries and
momentary
need we all come
across
into a sickness.

It all looks
much better
for you and
more importantly
for them,
on paper.