Lazarus Pill Poem by Gary Diamond

It's a bad one.
It's a very bad one.
Even the tiny cracks of light at the sides of your curtain
Batter you around the head violently.
Even turning over to the cold side of the pillow
Is a chore you'd rather do without.

Someone drops a coffee cup downstairs
But to you it's like a bomb going off over the china.
The pieces being scraped off the floor
Make you feel like tearing out your hair.
It's a bad one.

You can see the equasion staring back at you from across the table.
You can add up the figures and come to a simple conclusion.
A couple of the things you enjoyed at the time really don't mix.

Eventually you regain a little strength and swing legs over the bedside.
Hold your forehead as it starts to spin and convulse.
You're too dignified for crawling.
Stumbling is hardly better.
Make your way to the medicine cabinet.

Pull it open, ripping at the bottles, sending the lotions flying.
As you repeat through hazy motions, crying
Dying a little, until you find the right box.

The Lazarus pills. A pure hit of vitamin.
To raise your contenance from the dead and
Quick, there's work to be done.

Take one and take the glass of fruit juice.
It's recovery time.
The doctor has his patient on the operating table.
This will be incision, this will be a cure.

You take the pill and lay in bed waiting.
Then it comes.
You get up for the bathroom - you RUN.
Then sit on the toilet.
It comes and comes and comes
In a gush.
A release of poison that the pill has done.
It sounds horrible but it feels better.

And so, throughly drained
You take a shower.
Scolding hot.
New set of clothes on bright pink skin.
A full breakfast to replace the missing proteins.
Plenty of bacon, egg and sausage.

Still a little shaky and unsteady
But at least you're ready.
You're going to make it.
You're going to make it.