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