I am growing weary of illness. I selfishly say a prayer for a cure. I helplessly watch. Hoping for a change. Waiting for some miracle that never comes. The orange ones make you focus. The blue ones make you happy. The white ones make you numb. The green ones make you sleep. The pink ones help the pain. The red ones keep you balanced. We think being medicated helps. I see only sedation; a brief respite to curb the inevitable yearning to die... I watch as they take effect. The excitement that was once there, has faded into forgetful darkness. I can never get over the past. To you, it seems innocuous... You get over it so quickly. It was only a fleeting dream to you. It matters not that it was my nightmare; burned into my mind. It doesn't matter. You point out all my inadequacies, as you lie in the bed, wanting to die. What a great life... What a great life...