Rehabilitation Poem by Kewayne Wadley

They are trying to make me go to rehab.
Not for pills, not for any powdery substances.
They are trying to make me go to rehab
For I am in love.
A treatment for my dependency of relying on my heart too much.
A remedy of sorts I'll never learn.
A synthetic of possible employment
Labeled as hopeless. An Imitation of my former self
They are trying to make me go to rehab. With redesigned jackets, dressed in all white rooms. More anxiety displayed in an otherwise dull fashion.
17 days
Without need for music, blain disregard for my favorite shot glass. Without my favorite bourbon.
No that won't work.
Shades pulled down, blinds closed.
I think I'm fine. No really I do.
There's nothing wrong with staring at a blank wall.
Listening to the same songs.
They are sending me to rehab.
Not for needles, narcotics. Nor an hole or two in any of my arms.
Repressed catacombs
The thrill of therapeutics in volume.
The lithium of a longing heart.
impairment of my disabilities, relying on my heart too much.
Honestly, Is there anything wrong with playing my music loud.
They are trying to make me go to rehab.
Not for buying swishers, not for happiness in a bag.
Reassurance that the thirst I feel is real.
Intervention.
A provision of twelve steps.
Please don't make me go to.
They are trying to make me out to be something I'm not.