poison
No one can see it, but I’m poisoned.
Every morning, I take my meds,
and as the pills travel down my throat,
I wonder if this is the only antidote.
When I sit alone in my bed,
pondering my own crippling thoughts,
the poison makes me ill.
Will I ever get this out of my system? I ask.
It lingers through my body—
from my head, deep in my brain,
to my stomach, where I get nauseous
at the thought of my own mental toxins.
Although I didn’t consume something deadly to make me sick,
the poison in my prefrontal cortex
might just be the death of me.
When I walk into a room, no one sees
that every step I take is intense pain.
For now, I’ll go to sleep with this poison
eating at my life
and hope that it doesn’t kill me.
I’m poisoned mentally,
but not physically.
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