I’ve realised,
My doctor is a pusher man,
Giving me drugs,
That he doesn’t even understand,
Somewhere, someone unknown,
Decides what drugs are legal or not,
All decided based on which makes more money,
A never-ending money-making robot,
Right now, I’m numb and out of it,
Like I’m an extra in the walking dead,
All because I want help with the depression,
That consistently plaques my head,
I’ve smoked the odd joint in my life,
But right now I am the highest I have EVER been,
And I’d need rehab to get away from this tablet,
If I ever wanted to be clean,
For years, I may have been depressed,
But at least I could feel,
Cos this anti-psychotic depression tablet,
Has made me happy, hollow and not real,
So, stop me from being me,
And give me drugs Dr. Pusherman,
Prescribe them evil chemicals to me,
And send my ass to wonderland.
I feel like a ghost,
Empty inside,
You say it will make me feel better,
I think you lied,
Synthetic pleasure,
From some fake ass chemical drug,
Make believe happiness,
From scientists who are also criminal thugs,
But it’s ok,
I don’t mind,
Cos if I had a voice or opinion,
You’d give me hard prison time,
Dr. Pusherman,
Working for criminals in white coats,
A business that makes fake,
Making money from suicide notes,
I’m Damned if I do,
Don’t if I don’t,
I only want something to make the pain to stop,
I just know these happy pills won’t.
I just don’t know any other way,
So, I will have to bow down,
And stop true feelings,
And wear my brand-new frown.



Wrote on 20/10/2022 (NOT Proofread)