"reuptake" poems
Balanced barely - crept up slow. Narrow and steady, my chemical device needs reuptake badly. Bleeding - poorly bandaged wound walking, in memorial of my flight from mothers womb. Pain rainbow, gypsy vantage point through eyes of stained glass. Literally lost, fact facing smothered butterfly sleeping sound under a blanket of pain.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:56 AM UTC
The chalky Cliffs of Dover crumble in my fist.
Tucked away neatly in my pocket.
I have the power to become a person completely in control.
The tension seething in my chest no longer.
All I need is the key.
A simple motion not readily accepted by the masses.
'Tis not we who wait for the dust to settle but for the dust to settle we.
The reuptake of life hidden but always near.
We care not for the hands that pass the life from person to person.
For they could be from the grimiest of grim and still our hands are cupped for their foul crooked benevolence.
We are gods and what is purity without the soot and **** and **** to define it.
Synthetic courage and emotional restraint what more could the people want.
Only a few care for the real me, the anxiety, the truth.
Why pander the rest when I have complete control within a plastic seal, tucked neatly in my pocket.
Feb 28, 2021
Feb 28, 2021 at 9:54 PM UTC
"what's that? you can't get out of your bed?
too weak to be alive, too lazy to be dead?
well! take your zoloft effectively
just inhibit reuptake selectively
and soon you'll have the energy
to end your life impulsively
or be rid of feelings entirely
a chipper, cheery half-zombie"
"your panicking fits interfere with your day?
i'll lay out a feast, a benzo-buffet
ativan, klonopin, xanax oh my!
not just for those who are too scared to fly!
pop two and kiss all of your worries goodbye
and your memory, too, if you come to rely
on hours spent watching your life pass by
just try and object through that stubborn tongue-tie"
"your circadian rhythm is not quite right
you're asleep with the sun and awake in the night
so take one of these twice before closing your eyes
and wait for the dreams that will doubtless arise
too vivid and real to know truth from lies
and the nightmares will be an unpleasant surprise
but stopping abruptly is duly unwise
so just find your stars in trazodone skies"
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
I find it hard to sleep
I find it hard to eat
I find it hard to think
I find it hard to speak
I wonder is this love
Or the use of a Serotonin–norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor?
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 1:39 PM UTC
1. Klondike bars
2. Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors
3. Out of rope
4. Just joined the cult to get laid
5. Turns out mom and dad do understand
6. Tie: The Price is Right and Matlock
7. It's called responsibility!
8. High as hell on life
9. Foes still unvanquished
10. Sex
11. Drugs
12. The Wise and Mighty Zoroaster
13. Rock 'n' Roll
14. You
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 1:08 PM UTC
As a delirious soul in the Asylum of Wicked
I would measure my serotonin reuptake
by the times your name
was carved into my brain relentlessly
each time you sang your song.
And if Ming Dynasty would build
the Great Wall of Silence instead,
it would cross your mind
and pass by the corner of your smile
never ending.
I'd probably try to conquer it,
but my Ventolin would be defetead by them times
I'd fall from you.
I'd fall for you.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Medicate me, I’m a mess.
A ****** up forgotten trash bag.
Smiles begin to sag,
And I feel less like myself.
Trapped in an everlasting personal Hell.
My life has always been a scale
Of playing it safe and false alarms.
I gave myself scars to prove
Pain on the outside doesn’t match up
With what I feel inside.
Disgusting depression degrading me still
Fill me up with a happy pill.
Don’t spiral me downward,
Sustain me with sweet serotonin.
I want to feel mania
Wash over me.
Artificially make me happy,
I am your robot to program now.
No longer to live of my own volition.
A pill can save me,
Less likely to be stuck with
Worthless self-pity.
Prozac, Lexapro; other reuptake
Suppressants.
I am coming to love antidepressants.
A junior ***** to be;
Pop these drugs,
Be set free.
Ironic, isn’t it?
Jail cells made from
Prescription bottles
Are supposed to liberate me
From constant sadness.
But, how can that be?
With a chemical to rely on,
I am not actually free.
I am doomed.
I am crazy.
This is who I am.
I will never be normal.
Just a little longer,
I’ll be fine when life kills.
Guess I’ll **** down more happy pills.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
I'm sitting at a stop sign with my tongue tied & my brain fried,
oozy sunny-side-up on the pavement
they tell me "look at the bright side" as if the sun could talk,
but no, I'm shooting blanks
on a half-tank of chemical reuptake;
here's a mouthful of soap, keep your insides clean
stuff a drawer with hope for the rainy days;
'cause we worship the heat like we're trying to get cancer,
I'll spill from my lips what I don't want to eat,
and worship every dancer for a flaw that knows them better;
insert needles into inked-up skin, then burn out every letter,
we'll burn that bridge when we get there,
make it a public monument
picking pennies out of muddy boot-prints,
but **** it, if the shoe fits
keep your luck in a jar so it can't run out like your bank account,
resuscitate me in a desert so I can get used to the drought;
& we've all got a cutscene we'd rather not talk about
so here's the uncensored take,
after I spoon-feed you the low-stakes version
(try not to choke)
this is every mistake on a half-tank of reuptake
try to fill up your plate while your bank goes for broke;
take it up a notch and watch me free-fall down the ropes
while you climb the ladder with 5 dead bodies and a *** tape,
call it a playdate with fate
& see how long the relapse takes
after your firewall fills with smoke.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 4:44 PM UTC
He came home from the Middle East
A depressed and very different man,
After having served a tour
In Iraq and one in Afghanistan.
At one time an athlete with a hopeful future
And mentor to his cheering peers,
He struggled now to balance his memories
With the dismal, heavy weight of tears.
Tears that suddenly came from nowhere
Drenched his pillow. A panic would sweep
Through his body making him dread
The nights and the thought of falling asleep.
The outbursts of anger frightened him more;
They frightened his wife and children as well.
Avoidance and withdrawal only seemed
To aggravate his daily hell.
People and places constantly triggered
Painful memories of war and death.
Loud noises would send him through
The roof and make him gasp for breath.
Walking down a city street,
He'd have a flashback and quickly duck.
His heart would race until he gained
Control of his fears that had run amok.
The doctors diagnosed his condition:
Battle fatigue, or PTSD.
They had a list of remedies.
Of course, there was no guarantee.
Serotonin reuptake
Inhibitors failed to do the trick.
And tricyclic antidepressants
Made him feel listless and sick.
Tranquilizers and neuroleptics
Caused him to be more confused.
Prazosin and propranolol
Prescriptions both remained unused.
When the pills failed to help him,
Alcohol became his friend.
At least temporarily;
The haunting nightmares wouldn't end.
His family suffered along with him.
His friends slowly drifted away.
Who had time to spend with someone
Whose life was in such disarray?
His plaques and medals on his walls
Made his pain more acute.
His isolation made him feel
Emotionally destitute.
Cognitive behavior therapy!
That's what a doctor recommended.
The desperate man acquiesced.
He said he'd go, but just pretended.
He dropped the kids off at the sitter's,
Drove back home, texted his wife,
Held his pistol to his head,
Squeezed the trigger, and ended his life.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC