We medicate away, saving this plastic image. We cultivate a vibe ridden with glamorous zeal. We combat age, and steal back something abandoned. We go back to visit something hidden behind the folds of time. A pinch of youth and a bit of imagination, and we become another well-manicured and pre-cast cog.
We medicate away, sacrificing our flavor, our flaws and beauty. Offered up, these victims are dissolved and trashed at the hands of the gods of our world. Sleek, ruthless and based in a mind far and distant, they are imbued with the power to create and metamorphosize our world.
We medicate away, smearing the prescribed treatment across our bodies. We touch up the tarnished marks, and cursed blemishes. We silence our body’s rhythm and voice, all so we can honor our gods’ mortal hands.
We medicate away, to become something. We put to death our thoughts, and embrace the word of our gods. We craft our bodies in their image, replicating their swagger, and style. We are a part of a whole, rather than one part among many. This residency comes with crisp notions, and security of self, as those without medication lack such treasures.
We medicate away, sealing problems in the mirror, the bottle, and the screen. But as the medication seeps in, steeping our body in the chemical mixture, what do we become? Something else. And what is this something? A being other than ourselves? If we are a beautiful creature constructed of select flaws, and burdens, what are we without this beauty and collection of flaws? Some unthinking thing.
Daily Prompt: Dash