Too far gone to be on the brink of depression.
Indentation marks the seeds of oppression,
and sows them deep into my soil with no hesitation.
Reticent thoughts wander on with no destination;

replaced them with enough medication to make it a habit.
Hazy revelations of salvation but knowing I can never have it.
Living in my own Utopian Hell, that comes in subjective pill size,
and, for a breif instant, I wandered inside and claimed the prize.

In a moment of weakness I try to drown myself with drink
and with abated reckoning, I think I'm begging not to sink.
Further down the spiral, vertigo has got me so nauseated
Plugging the drain to my brain has become so complicated.

Quickly, grab a dream before it floats into the great divide,
murders all the things you love while you run away and hide.
The fog is lifting, however briefly, try to focus and with any luck
I'll even find a reason to tell myself that I really do give a ****.