I'm playing your game,
Trying my best,
Going through the process just like all the rest.
I went to my therapy,
I go once every two weeks,
I tell her my problems;
She tells me I overthink.
I am a machine, though my gears may be rusty,
I still cannot make my frenzied brain stop its running.
I tell her I'm trapped, I say I'm alone.
Our time runs out and again I'm isolated at home.
This neighborhood sleeps but my insomnia taunts me.
It's dangerous, being the only living thing around suburbia's zombies.
Handfuls of pills,
Stress ***** and writing.
I'm playing your game but it's hard to keep fighting.