Satish Verma Poet I do not know?

Prozac

A candid confession from you,
when your identity started protruding
from innocent rage.

You were accepting defeat
without a fight.

The lips tell the grief of human failure,
your prudence propped up
by Prozac.

A beautiful collection of anxieties
adorned on the shelf of life.

A cruise in veins
to dispel the high cholesterol
dewy-eyed mirror
and ambulating pain.


SATISH VERMA

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Erin Werner January 9, 2009 at 9:49 PM i know how this feel, being bipolar. I get tired of the rollar coaster of moods and angish well put poem

Judy Riley January 9, 2009 at 9:41 PM Well put, good discription of someone on prozac, and the anguish they must feel, your poem brings the reader to a better understang of what it must be like. Good metophor and flow, I the style might be Free verse. Thanks for sharing Judy Riley