Often, I have pondered over the people next door.
Do they talk to me or should I ignore?
The curtains are drawn and the doors are always shut.
I close my eyes and take a step,
But my feet feel like lead
And I need to go to bed.
Am I that person that is talked about?
I can’t stand the worry and the doubt.
I dutifully wave to the car passing by,
Knowing my gesture is truly a lie.
Give me my pill,
So I can deal,
And make it to my next meal,
So this thing I call life will appear somewhat real.
by Erica M. Kadrmas
March 21, 2006