Another Day...

I take my little pill, At my doctor’s will, To satisfy his fill, Of patients he didn’t kill.

It makes me feel undead, Despite the crawling in my head, The nauseating snake of dread, That greets me in my bed.

I crack a grin, A neat split across my chin, A wound held in place with pins.

Maybe we’re all like this, Drunk on the pursuit of bliss, Powered by drugs and piss, Until we’re dealt death’s kiss.