There's a button in my psyche.
It's not big,
It's not red.
It's buried somewhere deep
in the back of my head.
My thoughts reach towards it.
It's unassuming,
almost accidental.
Black in color
and not clearly labeled,
but pleasant to the touch.
A mental finger caresses it in slow,
small circles.
It's a super power,
a curse, a boon, a blight.
It makes my eyes glaze over
with drunken delight.
It turns up time,
and slows my mind.
It turns off the world,
it makes day into night.
It turns me into someone
that you wouldn't like.
It makes everyone who loves me
disappear.
I fear the next time I press it,
I won't know how
to bring
them back.
It's a bit dusty
for years it ain't been pressed
I'm a bit rusty
but sure as hell ain't depressed
I figure this is just how it feels
being sober.