You are all the Prozac I need.

Baby, it's a busy bzzzzzing beehive of a world we live in,
drones bzzzzzzing about
our heads and necks and ears
bzzzzzzzy worker bees bzzzzzzzing around
a giant black haze
just about here
just about to connect with
their pointy little barbs
into our beautiful little necks
making us go OW and OOCH and flying in the night
to fetch our protective nets
OOH and OUCH and
I have considered subscribing to the fatalistic philosophy
of our blue-colored friend,
the answer that glides down the throat like a bitter pill
and does strange and fascinating things to our insides
that are strange and fascinating
to read about
their strange and fascinating effects
on those
strange and fascinating people,
who,
thank God,
are not us.

Yes.

I have considered Big Blue
as a suitable replacement for my Macintosh brain
I have bandied about
the concept of the Immaculate Perception
and perhaps idled away a quiet moment or two
perhaps thinking about
perhaps changing
perhaps
religion
perchance.
That is, until I met you.

Now I have a new pill to swallow,
a horse-sized sugar-coated
three-inch lump of buttery goodness
which slowly is eaten away
by the steel-corroding acids of my
inside metal-mouthed
fort knox of a bank of a vault of a base of a stomach.
And it is only after the internal digestion
of this sweet medication
you give the indication
of its eradication,
in short,
net sum,
WORD UP,
a placebo.
A libido placebo that quite wrongly
coursing through my acid veins
turns not into sugar water
but miraculously transforms
into the medication
I was seeking all along,
GOD I love fucking you.

And if I am to accept a prescription
to continue taking you
I will gladly do so.
If I am forced to have a suck job
doing suck work
for suck bosses
who blow,
just to have the precious health insurance
that will allow me to afford
your jacked-up prices,
at least I will be able to hold my head up high
and declare, "There's a lot worse reasons to accept a corporate job!"

Because baby, you're the sweetest spoon of sugar
to ever make the medicine go down.
You dissolve into my bloodstream
and put 20 gauge sandpaper
to my personality,
my bulbous bumpy lumpy
potato skin of a man,
and you file right over the ugly bumpy nodes
and make me smooth as Snoopy’s behind.
You make me happy.
You make me smile at dogs.
You make me like vegetarian food
and Jane Campion films,
or is it Jane Champion films,
I still don't know 'cause I fell asleep before the movie started
but that's okay, I was taking you.
Your medicine not only combats depression and anxiety and suicidal thoughts
it regulates my sleep patterns.
And it doesn't turn my skin blue,
and it doesn't cause cancer in laboratory rats,
and it's not addictive (well maybe a little)
and it doesn't get me high (well maybe just a little)
and it sure as hell
doesn't kill off sexual drive or performance.
No. Not by a long shot.

I put you under my tongue every 24 hours
and let you melt away
into a small hot salty stream of consciousness
soaking up into my taste buds.
You are all-day strong, all-day long.

And yes, I can't afford the prescription right now
but one day baby, you just wait and see
I'll be the hep-cattenest muthafucka ever to walk down the street
with a smile on his face
and a tap in his toes
one smooth boss-hog
chomping a big ol' cigar and yelling "roscoe, you get me those duke boys!"
And when I'm the belle of the ball
I will gladly flip a bird to
universal healthcare
and I will flip a bird to all those fucking Republicans
who won't let me get
universal healthcare
and I will flip a bird to all those fucking Democrats
who won't fight for
universal healthcare
and I will pay for your prescription
straight out of my own pocket
I will take pill after pill after pill after pill after pill
and drown myself
on the love and the faith and the trust and the sex
you have granted on me
I will overdose on the sugary goodness
of your insides
I will close my eyes one final time
in preparation of the mortal coil
I will slippery slide down
I will make my final descent into
the little death
and I will say to myself
in a voice so small only I can hear,

"I sure am glad
I got addicted to you"

Copyright 1999, Jason Pettus. All rights reserved.