What You Made Me

The grinding of the days goes by,Like heavy gears,You can feel it in your bones.This, among other things,Darker things,You can try to ignoreWith the childish hopeThat if I don’t look directlyInto the darknessIt doesn’t exist.My heroes are ghosts.But me?They haven’t found a way to kill me yet.I put the gun to my headBut I had no bullets.

My whole fucking lifeNeeds a mental health day!There is a diagnosis and a drugFor everyone.Just watch the commercialsOn the 5 o’clock news.They’ll sell you any drug you want,And “If you cannot afford this medication,We may be able to help.”How nice of them:The pusher man moved from the cornerTo a two minute commercialOffering to help me buy his shitJust to get me on it.Don’t let them bury me

I’m not dead yet,Just out of space and time,Out of frame, and out of mind.I’m like a dog in a cage.If I’m a good boy, I get to go for a walk,I can even put the leash on myself.Programmed,Institutionalized,Didn’t I used to shine?Now I’m dull, fadedA seer of visions.I’m still a spark that can catch fire,It’s just thatThey took my fire on a shakedown,And I never got it back.

I’ve been building up for so longMy explosion just might obliterate me.My mental health doctor saidI used to think more.“Think more?”Fuck, my mind never shuts off.It’s an illness the State gave meAfter 5 1/2 years of isolation.It’s not a color, but a condition,Not a solid,But a stripe.How do I keep it together?Is that what this is?If I walk out of this placeAnd make a mistake, just remember,I am what you made me.