Unmeds

Unmeds

My mind is blurry

and my soul is cold.

My eyes are bleary

and the trying’s old

to grasp at the sediment

of weathered, beat hope

chipped and chiseled

by the unending slope.

There’s not enough coffee

and it’s all gone stale.

The dawn’s too early

and I’m still pale.

The pills have stopped working

so I can’t take any more,

but I think there’s still light coming

through the crack under the door.

Maybe it’ll open,

and then I’ll feel the floor.

Tags: hope, medication, mental health, old, poetry, tired, unmed, weary