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Chemically-Sculpted Galatea
by Aaron BlairThe pills never did what they should have:
break me apart, make me into something else,
a chemically-sculpted Galatea, marveling
at her new limbs, her ten perfect digits capable
of grasping things not sharp and paper-thin.
Oh, it's true, the blood is gone, but there's an
art to being well, and I'm no master, more
a novice, gluing pieces of what sanity
is supposed to look like into some
carelessly done collage of pale colors.
Some days, the medicine stops completely.
I hide the dose under my tongue, refuse to speak,
before everything turns so bright red it overwhelms me.
I'd grown accustomed to the muted palette,
to feeling nothing and mistaking it for happiness. 07/24/2005 Author's Note: I'm obsessed with this topic, apparently.
Posted on 07/25/2005
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Christina Gleason on 07/25/05 at 01:15 AM That's a heavy title, there, Ms. Blair. Also, and you know this, "the blood is gone, but there's an / art to being well, and I'm no master" is lovely. |
| Posted by Ava Blu on 07/25/05 at 04:10 AM I am not sure any pills can make anything better; they certainly don't for me, but I believe you should write about this topic until you can make yourself stop dwelling on those things you cannot change. Your last stanza is a gem. |
| Posted by Bradd Howard on 07/26/05 at 05:08 PM this is powerfully written... haven't we all felt a little over/under medicated at times? great read... I'm glad I stumbled across your library |
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