I stare at the
bottles
on the white porcelain sink-
orange plastic bottles with
childproof lids,
filled with pills of
powder-white and lilac
to lull me to sleep
and to wake me up again.

Is this wrong?
Defying my own nature
with something
so clinical,
so chemical
as those little round pills?

I don't know anymore.

All I know is
my aching head,
my sagging limbs,
my eyes barely seeing through
the gauze of exhaustion-
my unanswered prayers.

My clumsy hands
find the bottle
I need,
push down
and twist off
the white plastic lid
and shake out one pill
into my dry palm.