lexapro
By Amy Myers
my mind was once so loud.
knocking on my skull;
tyranny, invisible to all,
to me, never able to quiet down.
my mind was once so loud.
lit by merely one, dark cloud.
reaching out to the eye of the storm,
they responded with the thought
that my cerebral fight is out of the norm
and assigned me my mask to be bought.
i waited in line with all the rest
to become numbed into a trance
and absolve the knot in my chest
with one orange bottle that i glanced.
each day i swallow a synthetic seed
that slides down my throat
dissolving in my stomach with ease
my new self sitting idle on the boat.
it follows the simply complex maze,
fighting off my internal army.
after months, arriving in my veins,
and finally a new mask i could reap.
with dull excitement i harvested it, (no break)
tying the mask around my head,
assuring that it is the correct fit
“never lose me,” the mask had said.
every month i would have to return
and surrender my income and identity.
grazing hands with the one who has to learn
how i trade myself for a sense of normality.
months passed before i began to notice
the mask was no longer that,
but during my prescribed bliss
it continued to become more flat.
i tried to pull it off, but
the mask was now a part of me,
and it dripped into my gut,
masking my body completely.
no longer did i hear my mind,
but i paid for silence with my heart,
and ignored the warning signs
when i placed the bottle in my cart.
my mind was once so loud.
what if it should have been allowed?
