Surface value

I find people and places are lost on me.

Things hold little value.

Feelings obscured by chemical warfare, titillated by prescriptions I convince myself are helping.

Serving my desire to do better, be better, one

swallow

at.

a.

time.

But prescriptions run dry, expire, get stuck in a throat so thick with unspoken fear and bottled cries.

When will this feel ok?

I search for answers under blankets and heavy quilts

of others beds.

In so many tongues and voices.

Other languages don’t make the words more

meaningful.

Don’t make my pulse quicken or my skin prick.

No hands reach past my surface.