The thing I use to fight with
has turned against me,
and is winning the battle
The enemy—
my own mind
—is about to attack,
and I’m unable to act
And now all I’m left with
is scars that never seem
to be healing,
I never seem
to be healing
A handful of pills
in my palm,
their color is a sign
of truce, purity,
and surrender
And I surrender
So here is my shield,
my sword,
my soul,
I no longer want
to fight this battle
My mind wants to **** me, and I’m no longer fighting it.