There is a ringing, a pitch unheard,

it stays between my ears to squirm

inside my head. Unnerving consequence

of a lucid mind. Slowed thought

like thinking through peanut butter,

and suspended emotions, but 


I’d run from feeling, but instead

crave the social enigma that stays lost

to me. 

Volunteer for functions I don’t quite 

understand or feel welcome at,

fail at small-talk,

be told to go relax.

Much of my day passes through

a spectrum of confusion,

undertones of inadequacy.

Is a sound mind to be thus polluted?

If only slowed, my feelings are still

what they were, no evidence of change.

I abhor the slowness of each sour note,

once at a pace I danced to, 

now I struggle to crawl

out of bed again.

There is no end to this ringing.

It opens every cell in a split moment 

of roiling pain and guilt.

I tamper with my wording again 

and again, to no avail.

Sound convoluted in one sentence,

and disjointed in the other.

How many times to revise,

and make better something I didn’t

do correctly in the beginning.

Attoning as a life-long pursuit.


One thought on “Medicated

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