I got prescriptions for tiny pills
for when mantras don’t suffice
to soothe my Boltzmann brain;
Sometimes I wish for it to have been shamans whispering ancestral remedies, the voice of a rhapsodist, or a preacher spitting scriptures torn
from a florid dust-bound book...
and I’m trying
too hard to remember
all the things I’ve never seen.
— The End —