I have been in an almost sleep all day,
Perpetual semi-twilight.
Each time I surfaced
I popped another pill (on an empty, aching stomach)
And returned to not quite dreams
It was almost fun.

The moment when the little pill kicks in
Is all the relief you've ever felt.
Pain, the master of your world
Recedes
And febrile fantasies erupt
Spilling from your head, to your bed.

I don't think I want to get well.
I thought the most fantastic poem,
But I couldn't break the surface
For long enough to capture it.
It eludes me now, while lucid,
But the pain is creeping back...
So, time for a little white saviour,
Perhaps I will rediscover
My lost masterpiece.,
Buried in the desert of disease.