Sickness And Art Poem by Lucius Furius

I
Of course you're right in saying that I'm sick:
No healthy person wants to kill himself....
But those psychiatrists' pills
'd kill me just as surely as this gun:
They'd kill the me that feels.

II
You ask how I'm doing.... I fear, not well....
By all objective measures I should be content,
but the heart mocks objectivity.
I cling to life by the thinnest of threads:
My art is the thread by which I cling....