My hands are ******* shaking-
As if this is the worst thing I've done-
I'm just typing in a number.
It's a ****** number and I'm-

I'm losing my mind like
"Doctor, what the hell is wrong with me?"
Like I don't wanna know because this *******...
This ******* can diagnose me.

So I'm ******* shaking until I have to sit down
And deciding everything I have to censor
Because I'm going to hire this Psychiatrist as a friend
But my brain is all warning lights and cries of "ENEMY"

And I've got nightmares thinking about talking about
About anything with substance. Anything I care about
Because it'd take one wrong word in the thick of emotion
For me to be labeled and I've already done that

I don't need another ******* label.

But self-therapy never did me any good and I've got enough bad
And all my therapists were money grubbing shitbags
So I'm going to buy a label from a psychiatrist
With my fingers crossed that I'll get a bottle of complimentary pills

I'm choosing the lesser of two evils that both turn my stomach
***** it, because I've already been ******* by therapy
And even if the psychiatrist is just as bad
It's not like any of them got **** on how I ******* me.