What if all this misery.
Was as simple.
As getting the dose.
Right.

I'd be aghast at the stupidity of it.
If it were true that.
These doldrums.
I keep wallowing in.

Were just a balance of
Neurochemicals.
In my brain.
That I never got.
Quite right.

Maybe the despair was less poignant.
Less precise.
Than an equal measure.
Of a bitter pill.

Where does my inspiration go.
For these bleak little snapshots.
Of my private life.
These odes to anihilation?

I might have to start.
Writing vague love poems.
Again.
About some eponymous woman.
I've never met.

So, let this dopamine and norepinephrine.
Sing me to my sleep.
As I start to like.
Waking up.