The Hunger

Sitting on the edge of obsidian darkness
Smoke fills my cold empty apartment.
Whistles ringing, sirens screaming
A kaleidoscope of images fleeting.
Nameless faces, chatterboxes
Babbling baboons, Maine Coons.
Doctors, gurus words they mutter
Just nonsensical blunders they utter.
Exhausted, confused, battered and bruised
From chemicals that have been emphatically infused.
With reckless emotion I hunger the potion
That ends this relentless chain of pain
That leaves me indelibly labeled insane.
And when I dream of peace pervading my soul
Taking me in from the vicious cold,
I wake up to the sound of the real world’s bell
Only to return to my living hell.

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