L. B. Mek

Blue Pills, Stolen Dreams


It’s blue pills, blue pills, blue pills

to keep away reality’s tears

awaiting, in all those stolen dreams.


Meat, on fleshly lust

sandwiched, like Velcro disgust

peeled back, in mirror-less showers

no toothpaste for our selfish life choices

of bleeding-gum, trumpeting Blues regrets.


Just young, having fun - no crime, they shriek proud

losing tethers to those tattered ethical seatbelts, of self

in absurdity mirages: titled, self-portrait’s collages.


It’s everything greed and festering gan$green

popularised, with zealotry

of those futureless, nihilistic dogmatics

with dollar store of belt buckle, self-worth

dropping pants at every passing ~ sway.


Acting like restraint, is a forgotten myth

and respect, a sinister - plot twist

of satyriasis warped: vivacity objectification.


As all-things fake, argued - into distorted lies

denouncing, societies pill-mill shopping malls

offering discount rates

for painkillers and Viagra, pop-up stall religions

as faddish copping methods: of cyclical abyss.


Faultless pharmaceuticals with inked assertions

dripping blood; and tax hungry governments, acquiring 

holly water redemption, on wholesome Sundays.


So, they’re free to perverse a generation 

in their working week. Stingy too

gotta get that concentrated Blue, to last

deep - into next morning’s: blue flames of scarlet hue

and greet, that dawning furnace of consequence.


Blue skies, strain to stay merciful

in all, but that final surge of decimation:

hurricane sighs, typhoon tears - streaking 

Nature’s fury, through every season.

Now, comes the real hypocrisy, as think-tanks

announce addiction and divorce rates, aside

STD stat lines, with their government fabricated

aesthetic level, deep-dive’s.



What of Chemistry?

What of Sensuality?

What of Intimacy?

What of Integrity?

What of Romance?

What of Trust?

and for mercy’s: sake

What, of Love!


What, are we teaching?

What legacy do we expect to bequeath?

What - oh what, must happen for us to realise

all that meaningless f’cking, serves only to repress

our potential for creating, something beautiful

that can last more than a night.  

When there’s only a letter of difference, to save us

from fashion trends influence of friend, or fiend…


Why not take it easy and enjoy life, of course we Must

but while embracing: that potential: in All, of life!

Why hide behind short term, self-gratification

in sinister seconds of ejaculation’s, wilful ignorance

to birth stillborn hours of wasteful self-indulgence; when

dog paddling our self-thwarting, debased mindset’s

yields naught, but that mass eruption of self-hate

and its pitiful finale of all-things: pathetically sans.


Still, for some - at least 

it’s not too late, to choose freely

insuring we imbue our choices, with severity

allow questioned logic to steer us away

from immoral fashion’s, conveyor belt - wastefulness 

of this, our one and only opportunity - to savour

those hard earned, diversely entheogenic-fruits

of majestic existence’s: experience platter of life.



© L. B. Mek

July 2021