Sunday, May 29, 2016

Sickness

You say I need to get help. You land yourself in the hospital.
I push away from it all. No drugs will fix me.

Now you go. Go. Go. And expect me to Stay. Stay.

You wanted to get out of the house where I am losing my sanity.

But here I am, in the hallway outside the waiting room where mindless blahblah fills the room like telescreens I cannot shut off even though no person cares for them.

Shut me off. Go away. Stay in your hospital bed. Sleep and sleep and die and ask why you hurt all the time.

I hurt because I'm the dead man. And the robot welcomes me inside.

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Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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