An illness, a diagnosis, a prescription.
So much goes through your mind,
with no oxygen
is the best way to describe it.
Just spinning, with no end in sight.
Amongst the storm, you bring a bottle home.
Don’t read the label,
that alone can cause a frenzy.
You decide to wing it,
describe your woes to another.
They’ll recognize the red flags.
Worrying doesn’t do any good.
Three separate, become one.
What’s the medicine?
What’s my illness?
Medication is like the lottery,
betting on yourself to survive
with every cent you spend,
every prayer you pray,
every person you tell.