Blinds closed and curtains drawn,
You still shut your eyes,
As tightly as you can,
To block out the light.
Your throat aches for water,
Nicotine stains on your fingers,
You begin another day,
Of slaving away for hours,
Without knowing why.
The meds keep you among the living,
Your mind remains full of ideas,
And knowledge many can’t even comprehend.
People can still love you,
Yet you wonder why.
When you can’t give anything in return,
But a snide coldness,
With the occasional tender word,
Because you don’t understand,
Their love for a diseased soul.