Morpheus

[Radetof.Yahska]

I'll get into it.

Memories -
bottled delusions
tumbling into my blood
down funnels of glass.  

Their honeycomb doses  
hold hook fittings            
and they’re greasy, with ‘Daily’
screaming from the label.          

I take them; morning morphs to
evening, enervated, sleepy,
and you're still                
near.

I crave that opiate,
putrescence slipped into me
disguised. Then I realize: 
You are not
that I am.

While my critique is of little to no use here, I really like the poem. The epilogue seems to be an accident in which the narrator is injured and a significant other dies. The first stanza opens in the hospital, with a hazy description, and flows into the second, where the narrator is back home and is still medicated, but has supranatural sensitivity, somewhat like the man in 'A Tell-Tale Heart'. The third and fourth seem to deal with coming to terms with the loss, and a (strangely) hard look at opiate addiction. The last two lines are somewhat beyond me, though.

It seems almost blasphemous to reduce this poem in such a manner, but a little blasphemy never hurts. If this is similar to the original idea, then maybe 'bottled delusions' is a strange way to put it. Also, the last stanza has a very strong sentiment, unnerving, almost, and it seems to clash with the bit about realization. 'You are not that I am' seems a little weak here, almost mystical, and while opiates are often viewed as a gateway to dreamlands, it clashes with the tone of the preceding lines harshly.

My two cents.