Fluoxetine

it's strange how sadness sneaks up on you

it's not slow,

it's a quick strike

maybe you'd been holding onto it less and less,

so it grips you harder this time around

but it squeezes 

and squeezes

and squeezes

until the air you needed for breathing

becomes the air you need for getting out of bed

or washing your hair

or your bare-minimum laundry loads

and it takes everything you've got

just to pour yourself a glass of milk

and take your antidepressants 

because 'what's the point of taking these things anyway?'

and your mind churns sickeningly 

for the sixteenth time since noon

and you only wish it were the last time

.

you only wish you were dead