A Prescription for Ecstasy
Disjointed diseases ripple
Through the population
Of misplaced youth
Gathered under the rusted tin roof
Of a used-to-be factory
Turned new-age pharmacy.
Boredom and “stuck”-ness
Are the plague of the times,
The force behind the propensity to pop
Pills with smiling faces that promise
The blues will go away,
Go away soon.
Their maniacal grins
And manufactured personalities
Make it hard to discern
Where the person begins or ends
Or the world for that matter, and
The pharmacist loves his job.
Disjointed diseases ripple
Through the population
Of misplaced youth
Gathered under the rusted tin roof
Of a used-to-be factory
Turned new-age pharmacy.
Boredom and “stuck”-ness
Are the plague of the times,
The force behind the propensity to pop
Pills with smiling faces that promise
The blues will go away,
Go away soon.
Their maniacal grins
And manufactured personalities
Make it hard to discern
Where the person begins or ends
Or the world for that matter, and
The pharmacist loves his job.
By: Lacey Lord