Dear, gifted child by Naa Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey

I haven’t watched I saw the TV glow. Not because I’m scared it’s going to bring even more questions about what types of moans I like to hear sing along in harmony with mine. If you’re curious about the answer, it’s deep, high or in between; it all works perfectly fine. No, it’s not about love or even just a quick fuck (sometimes I find it hard to see the difference between the two). No, it’s just…

I think I’m running out of time.
No longer can my thoughts be drowned out by laughter,
Nor mindless doomscrolling.
Therapy can easily turn into a vent session if I let it;
Maybe I’m just in manic

But what good would it do.
How many more times can we up the dosage until
We reach the maximum I’m supposed to take before
I reach LD50 and the acute response becomes chronic?
I should be studying for my midterm
The serotonin receptors are all open,
Ready to greet the neurotransmitters to come through the door—
But not even a small gust of air comes through.

I haven’t watched I saw the TV glow. I’m not ready to accept that the solution for my problems might be a lobotomy. How else do I fix this?

There is no one coming to save me.
There is no more time.
Why won’t it stop? Please, just make it go quiet
Hello?

“Alright, so today we’re going to discuss the electron transport chain”