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
Hopes downgraded to wishes.
Wishes drowning in the well,
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
I cancel plans
knowing all I’ll feel
The meds give me strange dreams,
sometimes just strange.
My father’s soul is at rest
but at night,
and his mania,
and inability to listen to reason
in bizarre dramas.
I shuffle through my days,
wanting to want something again.