My brain is the gun.
My thoughts the bullets.
My hand is the trigger.
Society's hateful words pull it.

My mind is a prison cell
And I can't find the key
A little quiet cell
With frantic writing on the walls
The ink so thick that
It helps support the crumbling walls
I'm waiting for the implosion
These walls and ceilings
Tumbling down on me
Will it crush me to death,
Or finally set me free?

I think I have
Officially lost my mind
But I'm not quite sure, yet.
I spent quite a bit of time
Discussing with myself
And it is inconclusive
Sophia says I have
But Isabella says I have not
And I'm listening to them debate
Me and the others cannot wait
To get a definitive answerr
Ethan occasionally chimes in
He can't stand to be left out
Riley and Richard lurk in a corner
With some popcorn
And Annabelle is off in her own little world
She doesn't much care either way.
She's watching the unicorns and the fey
That are produced by the drug haze