Up To The Eyeballs On Medication (Poetry)

How can anybody outline torture —
describe its angles or true shape
paint a contour around sensation
to capture every stab and ache?

Such composition’s an enigma
for pain’s invisible though real —
ask the lover or the killer
they cannot tell what their victims feel

There are drugs to dull the moment
there’s hypnotism, booze and sex
but this pain remains ever-present
in twitching nerves that won’t relax

No chance of cure when the money-makers
make a packet out of pills
Take with salt — just a pinch sufficient
as the catch-all for most ills

There’s no machine to measure anguish
or depression’s lowest depths
attempts to sketch destroys perspective
nothing renders sheer distress

Live with it but never attempt to
turn pure torment into Art
doctors cannot grasp a concept
they failed to follow from the start