pill bottles

So, I come from a generation of excess.
But then again….so did you
I was raised on the idea of more, and if one was good
then two is better, and if two is better,
then four must be incredible,
right?

Blue pills pass through me
and the machine softens the membrane
to enact the perfect ensemble
of mind, body and soul       (So I can rest)

The sound of pill bottles being opened and turned upside down
 unlock the tiny soldiers,
which protect me in battles that do not exist.

I hear them rattle in their plastic container; the pills, I mean
and that’s when I know the rescue is only moments away.
Water washes the slavery down the back of my throat,
and my remedy is justified,
so long as I have a doctor’s prescription.

And there is always a way ….there is always an excuse
there is always a reason and there is always a color for every occasion
I live inside whites, yellows, pinks  and blues
I coincide with daily doses and survive with names
like Diazepam, or Klonopin.

I have oxycodone, alprazolam or Xanax
I have Lorazepam or Ativan, and if I need to sleep I have lunesta,
or zolpidem, which is ambien
I have percoset, loracet, kadian or morphine sulfate for the pain.
My list of medication is socially acceptable
…..and the list goes on
but I’m no junkie

After all, I have a prescription.

Right?

Meanwhile….
Parents wonder where the infestation came from.
“There’s heroin in the schools!” they say
and they ask, “Where did it come from

I’ll tell you where…
It came from generations of excess
just like we did.

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