8/16/25

they put us away for thinking loud,

because a quiet head is what makes people proud.

thin white walls with plastic grace,

they wanted to "fix" us, "just in case."

we spoke our minds with fire, and all they got was "disease."

so they wrote us all scripts to try and kill the breeze.

all of them written in cold, black pen.

as it's their way of making us all feel "zen".

you can see the electro light, and the needles dance,

as our thoughts and dreams are scrubbed out with mindless, yet sterile hands.

all the sins they inflicted, calling it all "relief,"

when really, they stole our identities and sowed in grief.

what happened to the ones who screamed at stars?

who spat at the wars as they burned their cigars?

they attempt to lobotomize a rebel tune,

so there is nothing but static when we howl at the moon.

but if you look deep inside, you'll hear a whisper that hums.

which is your own broken song that had been left on a bitten tongue.

you can't put out a fire with intravenous drip, or a needle in a vial,

because nobody really minds putting someone on trial.