Antidepressant

In the red dust bowl of a dry river bed an afterlife flowed to the distance ahead where the eyes cannot figure the view at the end or what lies in wait around the bend. Gnarled fisher of dreams in twisted pain, serotonin running on empty again, hook, line and sinker striking out at the mercy of drama and throat-baking drought. The matrix yields fish scales and white brittle bones, snarling with pushcarts and tyres and stones, cold hearted cold comfort in buying the farm, played out and gutted in way of all harm. Saviours in capsules, tempting, awaiting slow release promise of sweet contemplating of sunshine and smiles and a clouding sensation on perceptual lips of a doped Prozac nation. Reality crooked and head-cocked to the quizzical ironic destiny, mental and physical, for where can a tangible world claim to be in a chloroform blanket of glib fantasy? A channel, once arid, wells up with blue water baptising the night growing lighter and shorter; slap happy people with slap happy faces rise and shine early to go through their paces. Delusional masques fashioned harder and stronger to heads in a dizzying party line conga, the bad blown away in a chemical fatality, antidepressant…or anti-reality?