Sing a song.
Make it sad.
Cause I'm crying without.
These meds.
It's too early to fantasize about.
Success.
But I welcome the return.
Of emotion.
Even though.
My past isn't something.
I can deal with.
Right now.

Without the chemical lobotomy.
I'm depressed.
Everything has a personal meaning.
That I remember.

So I just have to push past.
This.
Incoherent mass of.
Feelings.
That were muted and benign.
Before, but not now.

Now they're prescient.
My tears well up within me.
And my flat effect is replaced.

By a deep tragic sadness.