The Pills of Illusion
The pills will make better.
The pills, they,
They will do.
Because I'm not right, I'm not normal.
As if - normal itself even had a definition,
And they think it does, and it just so happens that…
I'm not it.
The careless whispers of the night,
The lurking shadows that converse,
They'll be gone;
Replaced by a new, different, powerful, night terror.
Pop the pills each night, staring into the mirror,
It doesn't break anymore,
Instead, I'm thwarted into a world of illusion.
Irrational, beautiful, breathtaking illusion.
Because it is surreal to believe in a place where trauma does not exist,
A place where buried, repressed memories are closer to popping from the surface,
A place where…finally;
And when that beautiful place starts to disappear, it would only mean more pills, right?
More pills - dull the pain - to heighten the senses, the experience,
To enjoy the unexplored, drug-induced land I've never seen before.
But then, back in the world that like to call "reality",
They disapprove of my pills, of my beautiful hallucinations that meld with realism like puzzle pieces.
And I can't understand why- I'm normal now, just in a different way.
A way that they didn't expect from me.
Yet, suddenly, the beautiful land doesn't seem as beautiful as it used to be.
The shadows grow, and just like in the real world, they talk,
Try to engulf me-
They won't all of me, and not just a small part,
Succumb to them.
The pills…they can't be trusted.
Blown away once again, I am, back to the place I was before,
Where the pills are taken away,
A jacket is put on,
And locked away in a cell I am.
I am normal.