In a generation of medicated existence, one forgets to have your own opinion. By granting an exit to 90% of the population who idiotically believe that mind altering drugs will save your life, Prozac has replaced Jesus Henry Christ. Somewhere between World War II and the fight for Equal Rights, the world has lost the ability to mind it's own business. When the allocation of worries became somewhere in between Santa Claus and your neighbor, everyone forgot to be a little selfish in it's endeavors to better things. If we just took the time to realize that minding your own business is the lost commandment that should have equaled eleven. For Prozac fuels indifference to the point of self righteous pursuits of "the greater good." The world could be a slightly better place if we capitalistically sold people their own thought process in a bottle rather than indulging them into the unrealistic notion that it takes two to tango and threes a crowd. And the only place we will end up is in a Babylonic world of patriotic activist with the intent of a saint and the power of the devil.
I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.
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