Off Kilter

I crouch
in a dark room.
Sun closed off.
Sky closed off.
Curtains, keep all sight
because my chest is painfully tight
and a hole is burning through me
for no reason,
and it blisters
against the thoughts screaming
But there’s really no answer
to that.

Or an answer
too large to hold,
like an entire childhood
genetics and strife.
Then pills upon pills
to balance your case,
but then unbalance it
at an ease
because they are just
not right–

Why do I need
this poison at all
if it just makes it seem
off kilter?
Or gives me new demons

Because, if you try
to get away,
to open the curtains
and fly,
the precarious disease
which is your brain
denies you,
yanks you down
not to the foot of a window
but a cliff,
built because your head
wasn’t strong enough
to live the life you lead.
One must survive the crash
at the bottom
to discover a life
without drugs.

So now, I hide,
blackened out.
Closed curtains and doors
like talismans
against some unseeable evil.
Sometimes wide-eyed nights
and sleepy days.
Sometimes a rush
to make up to the world
for the lack of grown-up strength.

And perhaps, some day,
I’ll be free.

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