Pills, pills, pills


So many visits

So many pills

Theyre supposed to make me better

but only make me more ill

A pill for my depression

A pill for the rage

A new pill added each year

As I progress in age

Depression, bipolar

Anger issues galore

Label after label

As they add more and more

They say its supposed to help

I truly believe it could

But we are running out of options

They did all that they could

7 pills a day

An injection every 3 weeks

It's supposed to make me strong

But in the end, I only feel week

In all honesty, it does help

Keeps me alive

But what makes it worse

Is the labels in my mind

Am I truly this ill?

Do i really need all these meds?

It seems like my only way

to get me away from the wrists that bled

This poem is about: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741