Stop Fucking My Mind In The Ass With A Cactus
I woke up with a headache shaped like every stupid thing you ever said crammed sideways behind my eyes.
You’re squatting in my skull, tracking mud through every thought,
turning grocery lists into a trial full of lies.
Every ping on my phone feels like a ransom note from a future I did not sign for,
just more garbage dressed as advice.
You toss your drama at my door,
then act surprised when I say I’m done being your emotional dumping ground at half price.
You weaponize concern, call it love,
then poke every scar till it twitches like an exposed nerve under skin.
Tell me who I used to be, what I should forgive, where I should go,
like you get to pick which ghosts I let back in.
You turn my memories into a sideshow,
bend every reflection till I barely recognize the kid who survived all that before.
Then you smile and say I’m overreacting
when I finally tell you this whole twisted horror show is not mine anymore.
I am not your sandbox, not your soundboard,
not your private haunted house to run around in for kicks.
I’ve had enough of your guilt trips dressed as guidance
and your therapy tone while you swing the sticks.
If you need someone’s mind to mess with, go find a mirror,
I am done being your favorite broken fix.
Stop fucking my mind in the ass with a cactus,
you fuckheaded fucking cock sucking mother fucker.
Take your barbed little comments and your backhanded wisdom and shove them back into the dark,
you miserable bloodsucker.
I have got one brain and it is already full of noise and late night panic,
I do not need your spikes in there too.
Stop fucking my mind with your cactus hands, I am changing the locks,
cutting the cord, and this is my final fuck you.
You show up when I am weakest, late night, low blood sugar,
no sleep, scrolling through disasters just to feel less alone.
Slide in with nostalgia
and sad songs and “remember when” until my boundaries blur like a cheap screen on a prepaid phone.
You say you miss who I was before I got “so angry”
and “so sensitive” and “so quick to call bullshit out.”
But that kid kept swallowing glass to keep the peace,
and I am not spitting blood for your comfort now,
get the hell out.
You can keep your gaslit highlight reel,
your edited past where I never cried or said no or walked away.
You want the soft little puppet you can pull off the shelf when you feel lonely,
not the person standing here today.
Well guess what, this brain is under new management,
and you do not get a backstage pass just because you knew me halfway.
La la la, I am turning down the volume on your voice.
Dum dum dum, I am walking out and that is my choice.
You can rant into the void, write long manifestos,
scream at empty walls till your throat goes rough and sore.
I will be somewhere drinking water, breathing steady,
not rehearsing old debates with you anymore.
Stop fucking my mind in the ass with a cactus,
you fuckheaded fucking cock sucking mother fucker.
I am done being your target practice,
your soft skull to pierce whenever your own life starts to sputter.
La la la, dum dum dum, hear that rhythm,
that is my brain finally slamming the door on you.
Stop fucking my mind with your cactus bullshit, I am done,
I am free, and you can choke on your own bad stew.
If you ever wonder why it is quiet now
when you come swinging with your same old spikes and spin,
it is because I finally learned my brain is not your playground,
and I am never letting you back in.