Side Effects


It’s crippling.
Fog clogging up every thought and sense.
Like the thousands of baby snails that clogged up the filter in the fish tank.
They all died.
Not that they’d known what living was.
They were born in a fish tank filter, after all.
It’s not the misty magic fog that you imagine
sparkling, circling the entrance to an enchanted meadow
where the fairies dance at midnight.
It’s the thick kind of white, heavy fog
that could be hiding any sort of
nefarious creature, ready to rip you to ribbons.
Pay attention, stupid.
Get your head out of the clouds.
It’s pretty damn hard to get my head
out of the clouds when it feels like the clouds
are literally in my head.
I’ve get my very own water cycle.
No, I’m not crying, stupid.
Water cycle, remember?
Pay attention. Precipitation.
I’m precipitating.
It’s the kind of fogging, clogging cloudiness that makes you believe
that shoving your nose up into your brain
would make you think clearer.
But obviously it doesn’t. Nothing does.
Maybe sleep would.
But who has time for sleep, am I right?
There’s way too much to be done.
Lives to plan.
Multiple for me.
I’ve got these people wandering around in my fog, waiting for me to get
some sort of reverse fog machine to clean it all up
so I can start writing again.
Just because I’ve stopped writing
doesn’t mean their stories have ended.
Pay attention! Focus.
There’s far too much to do.
And do it quickly.
Quickly, quickly, quickly and accurately.
Not too hasty.
Hasty decisions lead to regret!
You’ve got thirty seconds to make a rational decision that will affect
the rest of your life.
quick and accurate.
Ready? Go!
Oh my god, stop precipitating.
It’s the kind of fog that has you running in circles,
seeing the same
“BEWARE” signs over and over again.
Because there can’t be more than one of each,
can there?
Of course there can, stupid.
It means it’s dangerous here,
pay attention.
And keep that precipitation to yourself,
you’re making everything all soggy.
Stop your drizzling, take deep breaths.
Where was I?
Oh right, crippling.
It’s crippling because nothing get done.
Paralyzing, almost.
Even the things you want to get done
You can’t even do anything about not going anything
because that’s how clouded your mind is.
It’s a cycle.
Like the water cycle,
Only instead of being beneficial
to the environment,
it’s detrimental to your mind,
health, ambitions, dreams, hair-sheen, weight-loss, grade point average,
free time, productivity, inspirations, aura, life.
Pay attention, stupid.
It’s a cycle.
Maybe if you’d stop precipitation,
You’d be able to end it.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741