Collecting Pills

this was a difficult poem to write. i wrote it many times. i started more times than that. sometimes you write something that's so true to you that it opens wounds. sometimes writing a post like is dangerous and subject to hospitalization

collecting pills                        

i’m collecting pills again
still; hiding them like land mines               
i never stop:
i don’t know why that’s hard to admit

right now,
i’m sorting the pink-orange hexagons
anti-psychotic and boring;
psychosis is a matter of perspective
sometimes
no one asks for my opinion
anymore

anti-psychotics are slow,
i sleep on the edge of coma;
i’m not interested in sleep;
my attention is fixed
on the mortal side effects
of the pink-orange hexagons;

i keep a variety of pills;
they comfort me, wait for me, always ready
valuable multi-coloured pills, still unopened,
any reputable collector would be envious,
i collect them to eat them;
all pills are made to be consumed

the cabinet in my bathroom
is a storage facility for lost pharmaceuticals,
pills i don’t talk about,
these lovely creatures aren’t my call for help
they are my last hope for resolution;

if i reveal this secret
i can already see admitting papers
smell the acrid hospitals halls,
i’m already wearing the bracelet
that tells people my name