The meds have decreased my appetite.

I’m still living on junk,

just less of it.

Gas station snacks and Reese’s Cups.

Movie theater food and Balanced Breaks.

Ice cream and pizza and fast food and takeout.

I just don’t finish it anymore.

Half full popcorn tubs

and leftovers in the fridge door.

The meds cause fatigue.

I still dream about the future,

just not as often

or with as much faith

and conviction.

Hopes downgraded to wishes.

Wishes drowning in the well,

ungranted.

The fatigue plays into my depression.

“Let’s stay in bed all day

with a gray stuffed bunny.”

I can’t find a good enough day

to pull me out of this funk.

I make plans

knowing all I’ll want to do

is cancel.

I cancel plans

knowing all I’ll feel

is regret.

The meds give me strange dreams,

sometimes nightmares,

sometimes just strange.

My father’s soul is at rest

but at night,

his disapproval

and his mania,

his unpredictability

and inability to listen to reason

are resurrected

in bizarre dramas.

I shuffle through my days,

wanting to want something again.