The Silent Cry of a Pill Popper

Oh, mighty health bosses,

Up there in your towers,

You say meds are flowing,

That we’ve got the power.

But come walk in my shoes,

Feel the sting of my hours,

Coz this second-line hustle

Ain’t no bouquet of flowers.

You call it a switch,

Say it’s all for my good,

But my meds come in pieces—

Now, who got that mood?

Two weeks, maybe three,

If I’m lucky, I’m set.

But ration my lifeline?

That’s Russian roulette.

You ever miss a dose?

You ever count your pills?

Sharing meds with the next?

Fearing gaps could kill?

Coz while you toast to reports,

With your suits and your ties,

I’m out here grinding,

Trading whispers and lies.

Y’all say “Stay adherent,

Or you’ll resist the line.”

But how, pray tell,

When the meds ain't mine?

No stocks, no plan,

Just a scramble and beg.

Meanwhile, y’all flip charts

While we walk on one leg.

Stigma’s my shadow,

It won’t let me speak,

So my silence screams louder

Every day of the week.

And who hears us, huh?

Who answers our cries?

We’re the forgotten soldiers,

Where truth quietly dies.

Oh, Minister, Director,

Or whatever your title,

Can’t you see this switch

Needs more than recital?

Fix the flow, fix the system,

Admit when you're wrong,

Coz third line ain’t cheaper—

It’s a price we prolong.

So here’s my wry thank you,

For the rationed despair,

For the silent corridors

And the nurses that stare.

I hope you sleep easy

In your well-stocked abode,

While we scrape for survival

On this broken road.

Fix it, or watch us fall.

Your house ain’t in order.

But hey, what’s a few lives, right?

Just numbers in your ledger.