A Poem a Day Keeps the Zoloft Away

There will be rooms for you lad

The rooms will be happy or sad

Productive and degenerative and indifferent

Long hallways with too many doors,

You’ll choose a lot of wrong doors before you get

To the right one,

You’ll regret the doors you’ll never find,

There will be rooms with friends

Filled with boisterous laughter and you’ll get drunk on the delight of it,

Smoke filled or dank or putrid,

As though a corpse laid in it,

You’ll smell death then,

Then all the rooms will change,

And your first instinct will be to get back to the old rooms,

But ignore it, throw away all the old keys,

And keep going,

You’ll learn that they aren’t better or worse,

Just different,

And only memory can trick you into thinking

There is a difference.

#314