It is the one thing that defines me. I am the one thing that defines it. One psychotropic coconut with pain so vivid it is felt in each bone like pine needles through veins. One headache so intense it forces screams from me. One poor excuse for a life. From the outside you can't see them, but within I am wincing in torment.
It’s effects are endless. It sends streaks of discomfort to receptors and pills are the only answer. The doctors grasp no cures and they discover no results and will never quit prescribing and I keep popping, until the drugs work no longer. This is my hell.
Any more -tine’s, -line’s, -max’s, and -zac’s, I’d be naive to believe they would help. Psychotropic, psychedelic, psychosomatic?  I wonder as I’m pricked again. No one knows anymore.
When I am too broken and too sad to look at my reflection, shattered glass to clean up, that’s when I know it’s not me looking back. One that changed my life. One that drowns in anxiety and thoughts. One that will face recovery.