Little yellow bottle sitting on the windowsill,

asking if I’m ready for my little white pill.

Will it be just one today, or two or three?

If I had a say in things it’d already be empty.

—

Yet I try to be good in spite of the pain,

Never worry about the poison in my veins

that can barely rise to the occasion

When it comes time to get filled up again.

—

“It’s the best option we have” they say,

while I grin and utter “I’m okay”.

It’s my only option,

So I guess I’ll keep walking this way.