#fluoxetine

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I heard legends of medication killing your creativity.

Myths of zombified minds and nothing behind the eyes.

I didn't believe it, and even if I did, i believed it was worth it,

To give up my lifeline for a reason to live,

Tear away my poetry and start a new page.

My story has a distant ending now,

Potential for a future,

And the jagged pill that sticks to the walls of my throat each morning

Has given me pure joy and a lust for life.

However, these fables were not untrue, but merely mistranslated.

You see, I haven't written a single thing since my suicidal ideation has ceased,

Because my poetry feeds on raw ache and terminal disease.

A daily dose of cyanide, to kill off the artist in me,

And everyday for him I grieve,

And yeah it sounds silly "oh my muscles are sore" no I'm talking muscle spasms and tightness. I was on ssris for the past 5 years (3 years of wellbutrin at the end) and had to start taking muscle relaxers because my back and hips were so painfully tight the muscles were literally injuring my ligaments and shit, but I stopped Wellbutrin and suddenly I barely need my muscle relaxers.

I'm fucking serious, I just thought there was something else going on hearing about all of these depressed and mentally ill people having chronic pain, turns out ssris can give you chronic pain.