Kattens Rejse

Rhyme attack on a medicated Friday morning

There’s a million thoughts in my head
that don’t really have a place
They are all just milling around
in a tumbling, hazardous race.

There are ten thousand ants in my feet
and in every other limb
They cause me to fidget intensely
at the risk of getting too slim.

I guess this medication’s not bad
the dishes really get done
but this ongoing, maddening twitch
is a menace I cannot outrun.

Then of course I awaken at four
after several earlier tries
I just twitch and I turn and I yearn.
This drug steels the sleep from my eyes.

On the plus side I’m quite productive
in the wee hours just before six
I write mails, I rhyme and I fidget
I wish the productiveness sticks.

If it stuck for the rest of the day
I might have a jolly life
yet it leaves before five in the evening
– the rest of the day is pure strife.

Being medicated isn’t fun
but neither is being without.
How I wish to remove this dilemma
and the seething, lingering doubt.

… and the twitches, most of all the twitches.

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