deepundergroundpoetry.com
Psychiatry by Dummies
A light on the black
probing as an alien
looking at my cranium
with a red pick axe
When muscles fight back.
Closed, stubborn paper sticks.
Cheap medicine makes me sick.
The needle attacks,
and the chair they stack-
comforting pillows, satin.
My teeth against the baton,
sudden jolt, contact.
They say 'it's a fact'
'we know what's best for your health'
Zap my memories to death.
In the fatal act:
I sit and smile, blank
I think about tea, tuesday
knowing who I am one day.
Knowing what I lack.
Knowing what I lost-
and how to get it back.
probing as an alien
looking at my cranium
with a red pick axe
When muscles fight back.
Closed, stubborn paper sticks.
Cheap medicine makes me sick.
The needle attacks,
and the chair they stack-
comforting pillows, satin.
My teeth against the baton,
sudden jolt, contact.
They say 'it's a fact'
'we know what's best for your health'
Zap my memories to death.
In the fatal act:
I sit and smile, blank
I think about tea, tuesday
knowing who I am one day.
Knowing what I lack.
Knowing what I lost-
and how to get it back.
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