by Eric Morris

I know what you’re telling me,

That I’m broken, my mind is ailing me.

But the treatment you’re selling me?

It’s not curing me,

It’s killing me…

The pain helps me thrive.

Destroy myself to create,

Create just to stay alive.

The spirituality of my reality

Is a demon of duality,

An angel’s smile

Hides linguistic brutality.

This sanctified evil

Is quite a curious mentality.

And you’re the cat

That would kill the curiosity

As you offer me

My daily chance at normalcy,

150mg of time-release sanity,

A pill to kill the ill

And restore the humanity.

I don’t want it!!

You say I need it.

The disease must be treated,

The beast must be defeated,

The cure must be completed.

I can fit the world’s aesthetic

And keep it copacetic,

Only slightly (a)pathetic.

That’s not me.

My personality

Isn’t free,

It’s been caged by an MD

Who’s blind to what he can’t see.

How can I willingly

Deform what’s inside of me

For only an opportunity

To be acceptable to society?

This is my choice.

I have a voice

That will not be silenced

By your fear of verbal violence.

To medicate

Is to saturate

My riot with a quiet,

To know salvation and deny it.

A prescription pill diet?

You’re trying to sell it

But I won’t buy it.

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