RDW's poems

5- The Prince of Prozac

To be or not to be – who the hell cares?
I’ve better ways to spend my time, my days
on Earth.  “Why worry?” I say.  He who spares
the rod for his own back – can live at ease.

I’m for the easy ride.  I’m just upset
with this old castle, with its gloom and mold.
I’m out of here the first chance that I get.
This place is too depressing.  I’m not old

enough to stick it here.  So Mother, you
can sleep around however much you like.
It’s all the same to me.  I know it’s true
there are no ghosts, when I sleep through the night.

Now I don’t ask why I was in such pain –
I take the tablets, and again … again …



1 Comment »

  1. mold, not mould

    Comment by Richard Wright — March 8, 2013 @ 10:35 am

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