Fuck the DSM

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Your medicine is like a weapon in disguise remote controlled every morning religion. It's no irony your pills look like the bullets they are: dirty and dangerous. I thought I needed them like I thought I needed you until I didn't anymore. ...

Your medicine is

like a

weapon in disguise

remote controlled

every morning religion.

It's no irony your pills look

like the bullets

they are:

dirty and dangerous.

I thought I needed them

like I thought I needed you

until I didn't anymore.

 

He said having them was like

having a gun in the house.

We couldn't wait to get you out.

 

I remember searching for a pill case

that could fit all of the medicine you'd

prescribed me. You know, so, I could

remember the regime

complicated routine

the chemical orchestra that helped line

your pockets

while you stole my time.

 

“Treatment” you called it

when it was you who poisoned me;

“Medicine,” the thing that made me

continue to make appointment after appointment

all about those supposed illnesses you voted on

by committee.

 

Fuck you.

And fuck the DSM.

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