Homogeneity
By: Avery Hunter
my body too.
My past is bleak,
full of storm clouds,
full of death,
full of despair.
I can see nothing different
in my future
just a slow, aching trudge
to the end.
Counting down days,
and hours and minutes
in wretched repose
until the inevitable, ultimate climax.
White coated men give me pills.
"You'll soon feel better," they say.
I don't.
I don't feel anything.
No depression, no fugue,
but no joy, no love,
no happiness either.
Just homogeneity.
I swallow down the last pill,
lie back,
and close my eyes
one last time.
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