Whom do I get mad at?
Ordinarily, somebody would pay
What it did to me
What I went through:
–Uncontrollable tears
–Whole week-ends spent in bed sleeping
–Trying to work through sedating meds
–Fighting to live, pay the bills
Someone ought to pay
And I look back
To how I was
What I go through, now
Someone ought to pay
Bitter, the capacity to remember
And I ask why did it happen to me?
Why
Why did I have to choose between the psych-ward
And a life side-effected into dragging
A sluggish body and thick mind all over
Bad work-days that barely eke out
My existence
God only knows
Then, I ask again
What did I lose in it all?
Was it but imagination’s fabrication of an idealism
Of what it is to live, what life is?
Whose life hasn’t been collapsed around?
Incredulous wondering what happened to me
That it would happen to me
That it would happen
What I went through, go through, now
For me, it was bipolar disorder, for others
It could be anything, I guess
And demur a list of any number of crushing things that ruin
I conclude my words with a blank to be fulfilled in
Then there’s the question of God
David Fekete 