Ode to “medication”

Cucumber Lodge

Minus a needle or lance,
Declaring your head was askew,
Upon you, their mind, it advanced,
Experiment theirs, became you.

Stormy your thoughts from within,
Your circuits would cross and divide.
Resetting your ends they’d begin
With chemistry pimping your ride.

Responsiveness, yours now delayed,
Shuffled and slurred was your way.
Your mind, up for you, was remade,
Erased and re-taped every day.

Then slipping away from our view,
That evening, your final ascent.
No more “medication” for you,
You gave it all up. It was Lent.

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