They say that giving up is a potion,

failure, loneliness, sadness,

all thrown into the same pot.

Forced into our waterbottles,

and sip by sip our wheels stop turning.

Our mouths are parched and our lungs dry.

They say that failure is not an option,

but as we lay in our hospital beds,

the drugs drip, drip, drip

that secret potion into our minds,

and after we heal we are flooded.

So we can not pick up that basketball,

or put on our point shoes.

And our hands aren't strong enough to change the gears

on our bike,

so we drift endlessly in the same direction.

As the potion makes it way through,

it shivers

and it falls.

So we cover our drip drip dripping eyes,

and find comfort in the darkness

of not trying.

Falling asleep to

F's,

Trashy music,

and the little voice in our head saying,

don't try.