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Unmedicated
It's eleven: I drag myself out of bed.
It's noon: I write a note.
It's one: I buy some pills
It's two: I buy some daffodils
It's three: I want to be buried with them
It's four: I want to be cremated.
It's five: I'm in Central Park. I'm on a bench, I'm crying.
It's six: I'm freezing, I cry some more. It's obvious, I'm dying
It's seven: I think
It's eight: I laugh
It's nine: I'm florid -- I'm exuberant.
It's ten: I write a manuscript,
It's eleven: I try to burn it.
It's midnight: And I'm wide awake
It's one: And I'm out cold.
My brain is like a shaken snow globe with
My sanity as unsettled as the flakes.
But in my mind, and in my soul,
Gravity has slowed.
