I have no control,
I'm just a reflection of emotions deep below,
Feed me some antipsychotics,
Free me from my mind,
Bionic-

I got the sickest of Minds,
Come equipped with the quickest depictions that sicken your eyes,
Unassisted, don't be resistin' the fight,
Trip sixes leave you ******* to die,
Rap circles around you like a serpent constrictin your life,
Drag you through the mud and the muck before I kiss you goodbye like the crucifixion of Christ,
You don't know what's livin inside or what I put into these lines,
You might wanna diss me but it's almost forbidden to try,
**** on you ******* while I'm kissin the sky,
Diss all your writtens while you listen to mine,
A misfit, I'm twisted with an addiction to rhyme,
Watch you stiffen at the sight of me hissin at night,
Silence these voices I tried but my prescription ain't right,
My lungs are collapsin like somethins kickin my sides,
I'm not twitchin, I'm flinchin,
Pay attention, there's a difference,
Somethin wants to get in and take away my decisions,
Sometimes I wonder how the **** I got in this position,
I keep talkin to God even though he don't listen,
He's prob'ly ******* from all the sins I've committed,
Unspeakable actions let the demons in, scratchin,
I keep pleadin and askin but believe I'm the baddest,
Can't seem to keep it, reactin, but receivin the static,
Creepin in the dreams of an addict that needs to be handed,
It's reachin in me and its makin me panic, I'm takin it back and,
Retracin my tracks and erasin the past and,
Replace you with ashes and take the flame back I'm,
Burnin alive while rehearsing these lines,
You can feel it churnin inside, the turnin through time,
You're cursin my life,
Feel like bursting inside-

Feed me some antipsychotics,
Free me from my mind,
Bionic,
Walkin a fine line,
But I called it,
"Its night time,"
Don't worry, I'm on it-

you think you’re crazy
don’t worry,
god’s crazy,
god made the demons in his head ,
made beings to carry the monsters seething from his omnipotent,
gave you a brain beating to the chemical cocktail
blood and ****
pain and instinctive lust
gain to gorge,
you’re just the issues god takes his prescriptions for,
stop asking
pleading,
groping why,
clutch that 20,000 leagues deep self esteem
and cuddle the cockroaches slithering about your skull line,
cash the cracked aspirations
and scar barren flashbacks of childhood and fleeting “innocence”,
you’re of it
made for it
just another it in the frontal lobe of the big mans ****** ******,
bludgeon the reasoning,
the self serving
“why me?”
“why this?”
“why good?”
“why evil”
why not just accept cause and effect,
things break,
things fix,
things die,
things live,
there’s no
westernized
white bread
european cast deity judging these play toys
on a singular ignorant perspective
known as “morals”
of which we as american christians know by birth
even though perspective’s just a shaped system
clay formed by surroundings and conditioning,
meaning is a lie we manifest to make living comfortable,
accept and live,
die and ascend,
be bliss
coddle the drug,
and take your place as gods little chemical embalance

why can't you all stop lining your pockets with gold-studded fleece while every ounce of creativity in the lower rungs of the ladder is dubbed "crazy"?

i don't want it to slow.
my brain is my friend.
keep her alive.

keep her ALIVE.

halting d2 receptors is not a cure for shorter-cut sleeves-
it's a pharmacological disease disguised as a dreamer in heat,
as a simple lighthouse in a tree with no leaves.

i can't
let my name change
i am not broken
NOT
scarred and
only temporary because
it's all done behind a curtain,
anyway.

i've left no spare rooms for unrecognized pain-
the echoes of vacancy are reflective of my woeful naivety.

as i drift further into galaxies in my dreams, i
will soften like damp Styrofoam
until i
sink.

I'm one of the ones you call insane,
Because I can't play along with this rigged game.
The odds are stacked, and not in our favor,
But instead for the Bankers with money, they create more.
I look and I see the strife all around,
And know the potential for human life has no bounds.
And when I make a sound,
It's like the words are all drowned,
Or at least lost at sea.
Message in a Bottle from Humanity.
A Human who knows the scale of her insignificance -
While knowing the magnitude of what is at risk -
The disposal of this awesome gift.

I'm one of the ones you call insane,
Because I can't play along with this rigged game.
I know my role, and I know how the story goes.
I should vote in vain and be told my Heroes.
But no, I dance to my own rhythm,
I tell myself it's internally driven,
To improve myself, and the world around,
The world at large, and earthworms in the ground.
So I rejected my spoon-fed medicine,
Of this culture, man-made incentives,
Long before you inject me with antipsychotics.
Internally, Mentally, I chant the mantra of "Stop This."

It can drive a person insane,
Pretending to play this rigged game.

He got up onstage lookin’ like somebody’d torn him out of a National Geographic special on the Amish, plunked ‘im down in Eugene for a decade where he quickly realized he didn’t have to change much to get along quite alright here.

this is a song ya know I played it here 23 years ago just right over there on that side of the room and ya know my partner and I played it here and I couldn’t write songs then and he could and I was a little bit down in the dumps about myself about it but then I moved on and ya know my partner left here not long after that got caught up in that hitchhiking business and then got tangled up with the mental hospital and now he’s forced to take antipsychotic drugs every day for a time he was known as the second most dangerous schizophrenic in the state of Oregon but ya know he was also probably the second most gentle person in the state of Oregon cause ya know opposites sometimes come together in that way and ya know his songs were gentle too like this one for example this one is real gentle

ya know he was really a gentle player and now he’s caught up on those antipsychotics and its all my fault cause I drank a bunch of *****

Hot Tub Jeff looked straight outta National Geographic but when he sat down he pulled out a phone and the screen glowed bright on his face bringing out all the creases that had been hidden in room’s putty atmosphere, cause ya know opposites sometimes come together in that way.

were i to eat the sun
and let its pulp trickle down my throat—
would i glow through the skin
like gods do
in their upstairs rooms?
would they pull a chair for me?
would they look me in the face
or through it?

what is it,
to have no one above
but still feel pressed from the top down?
the halls breathe.
the windows widen.
my mind reached the edge of space
and left static in the vents.
it drips from the ceiling
in the shape of warnings.

i drift through the folds
of my boxmind—
no doors, no exits,
just pill bottles echoing in reverse.
the corners hum in borrowed voices.
my tongue collapses
like paper soaked in antiseptic.

it’s always like this
when the antipsychotics dissolve
before i do:

time frays,
gravity peels,
and i wake up
inside-out.

I still remember her house vividly;
It was always messy, clothes and toys littering the floor
While the cats wandered by whenever they pleased.
There was a beautiful doll's house that she cherished so much
That she let me play with as she spoke to my parents in the kitchen.
Guitar-playing was a passion of hers,
And I'd sit, transfixed, as she sang along to the songs she played,
With a wide grin on her face, that was her home.
Now it's not.
It's never going to be her home again,
Because now she lives in a home for old people with health problems.
She had a breakdown after the death of her sister
And no-one could give her the help she needed, so she went away
Where her loved ones thought she'd be well looked after.
There the staff kept her locked in her room,
Mind atrophied from the solitude they forced upon her
Except for the times they shoved antipsychotics that she didn't need down her throat.
No-one visited her. How could they?
Her son insisted she stay in her home city
Even though everyone in the family lived in another.
My mother couldn't see her own sister, busy being a carer for me and her mother,
Not for years, and by then it was too late.
She'd fallen over, broken her hip and banged her head,
And she suffered through the agony for three days,
Until my mother found out and demanded they take her to hospital.
Then the home was shut down and she lives somewhere else,
Only five minutes away where she's visited often.
But it's all too late.
Once lively, outgoing, big booming laughter that filled the hallways,
She's now timid and frail, she's aged twenty years in only six.
There are no passions, only forced smiles
Dotted here and there, on rare occasions, with genuine glimpses of happiness.
And I'd love to tell you that I'm writing this for her,
Because I love and miss her and want to document the downfall of a woman so wonderful.
But I'd be a liar, because this write is as much about me as it is about her.
Every time I look at her, I can't help but wonder how long I have left
Until I'm in the same place as her.

ready to give up
go to rehab
for trauma and *****
tell the truth

cant handle
normal things
like bills, loud noises
push people away
they just want to use me

just wanted pain to stop
cant even get that right
day late and dollar short

take me away
numb me with
antipsychotics and lithium
different pills
same dependency
ready to give up