They put me on Quetiapine, it really stabilized my mood, but my edge is gone, no fire under my ass, just laziness and contentment, maybe this whole time it was the Risperidone speaking, that would be hilarious, the hint of it in the air, so much magick, I won’t hesitate to pass the blame, Shaggy, it wasn’t me, it was the drugs, so much shame and guilt in what I've written, I'm actually quite a stand-up person in reality, but damn, I'm a beast of the night, and when the moon calls, can a puppet deny the strings attached to it, you may think it’s easy to fight or deny, but blood flows through my veins, and it’s in my DNA unfortunately, this whole thing started out seriously, but then I started satisfying whimsy, making jokes, great spirit in the sky, she was leading me somewhere, and I’m not so dense as to not get the hint of where she’s driving these poems, sex and satisfaction, personally I simply want to explore the mind, and yes I may have been more eager than necessary, a bit blunt for a poet, but that’s who I am, anyways, I think I wrote it before, these poems echoed out before I got here, the river flows, and I found myself here, you don’t understand the delicate control the heavens have on me, or how they raised my beliefs from the ground up, and educated me with so many delusions, so many breakdowns, it’s not been an easy life, a struggle and a fight for a lot of it, but maybe I lost my virginity, and these poems are worth something, whatever, but I’ll say this now, I’d rather not do it again…

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