02 February 2007
Wellbutrin
Wellbutrin flow down my esophogus and make me happy. Flow past the abandonment and neglet of my mother and my father, lodged in my chest like a drum filled with lead. Flow past the regrets and the bad memories that stain my life and erase them from my abdomen, where they lay in my intestines and obstruct proper digestion. Flow past the shit that's been my life lately and right out into the toilet, where you quite possibly belong.
1 comment:
Hi Pam
(Thea again) I like this poem alot. There is much word play between reality and metaphor. I mean, the name of the pill has the word 'well' in it already, and it makes the narrator happy. The repeated word 'flow' and 'flow past' just draw the reader along, until the final line where the 'you' just hits the reader with a yes of recognition. There is hope in this poem. I like it.
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