The Support Group

I do not come here

Every week

Looking for praise or reward

For I don’t deserve

Any of those things

Of that I have been assured

The Fallacy of Pharma

They promised I’d feel better by now

That these pills would have kicked in

Well they fucking lied

As my brain is still fried

And my heart belongs in the bin

Plus Ca Change

So
this
is
it

Lying
in bed
all day
again

Wine
and
cigarettes
my only
friend

I’m so
bored
of this
shit

I
could
make
myself
sick

I
really
am
nothing

But a
nauseating
prick

Such A Cliché

I don’t
know if
you’re
aware

She
said

But
I’ve
been
feeling
rather
down

Let me
fetch my
notebook

He
said

Reaching
forward
with a
frown

Group Therapy

I’m
glad
you
find
it
helpful

But I
certainly
do not

What’s
the
point
in
telling
tales

When
you’ve
already
lost
the
plot?

The Trick Cyclist

I’d
like to
cancel my
appointment

I don’t
want
to see
you today

What’s
the point
in getting
out of bed

When
you can’t
help me
anyway?

Regime #7

I think
these pills
have
stopped
working

They
have
become
just a
token

For
they no
longer
take away
the hurting

From a
heart
that is
already
broken

Happy Pills

I think
we’ll
increase
your dose,

She
said,

To stop
you
feeling so
morose.

I’ll
easily
give it
a try,

I
said,

But I’m
pretty sure
the end
is nigh.

Harm Reduction

I’ve been
trying
so hard
to break
this chain

So I’ve
drawn on
my arms
with Biro
again

At least,
this time,
it’s just
a token

And my
skin,
for now,
remains
unbroken

A Little More

As I fall
apart
a little
more
each day

I wonder
if I’ll
always
feel
this way

How
much
lower
can I
sink?

Who will
pull me
back
from the
brink?

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