Breakfast
Breakfast
by Nicholas Wright
spilt out of cardboard boxes
which contain no prize,
i left the oven on overnight, and now
my kitchen smells like sylvia plath.
behind a vale, everything
just out of reach,
i wait for lazarus in the haze.
but he’s suffocating
inside a pillbox, receptors
aren’t firing, holy spirit
Risperidone, but repeat
yesterday was heaven again.
little caskets on my palm,
the lines of my hand, broken roads,
splintered dead oak trees.
the cereal bowl is a swarm of locusts, and i’m
buried under Honey Nut Cheerios,
simple uniformed anxieties,
Lorazepam resurrection, and
just enough sugar for me
to stomach these dishes.
fuck risperidone. fuck lorazepam. they both fucked me up. this poem rocks.
Thanks. Love your user name. Both drugs made me more depressed, which admittedly led to some pretty good poems. As a manic depressive, I’ve been given so many pills. They either did nothing, or simply fucked up my system. It’s nice to calm down. lamotrigine helps me focus, and think more clearly, but I’ll always stand up against over medication and over diagnosing. I live for the mad ones!