They said I was stable.
They said I was calm.
They stopped counting
how long I stared at my palm.
I ate my food, I took the meds,
I didn’t scream when I saw red.
I told them what they wanted to hear,
even smiled when they walked too near.
I learned to mimic peace on cue–
but I was always the spark, not the fuse.
I sat in the chair, quiet and clean,
while my mind ran wild
through a silent scream.
They left me alone,
said, “She’s fine now, see?”
But the worst part of me
was finally free.
In my defense,
I was left unsupervised,
with needles, matches,
and too many lies.
You don’t lock a storm in a room
and expect a breeze–
you get fire in the vents
and ghosts in the knees.
They called it healing.
I called it bait.
And when I broke–
it was too fucking late.
The nurse with the smile
stopped showing her face,
the girl with the grin
took over the place.
I warned them soft.
I warned them slow.
They laughed it off
like a cartoon show.
But even cartoons bleed when you cut deep–
and even the quiet ones don’t always sleep.
There was no knock. No scream. No prayer.
Just a whisper that she’s not there.
And in the dark,
when the lights cut out–
that’s when I finally came undone.
So write me up. File me down.
Blame the dosage. Blame the town.
But don’t forget who lit the spark–
while they were staring at the dark.
In my defense,
I was left unsupervised,
with every locked door
just slightly disguised.
You call it madness.
I call it clear.
You should’ve stayed close–
you should’ve stayed near.
But now I run this fucking show–
and baby, I glow.