by on June 25, 2008 :: 0 comments

I’m sick because
of all the medicine
you give me.

I need to be
home. I don’t like all the
people here.

They are crazy.
They talk to themselves. They
frighten me.

The doctor is
living in my home. I
own this place.

He says I am
Bipolar because he does
not want to

pay the rent. He
thinks he is clever, but
I’m going

to evict him
as soon as these meds stop
making me

feel so sick. I
am stuffed full of his bad

It’s poison. I
will have his license for
what he’s done.

There’s nothing wrong
with me. I’m a princess.
This is not

a delusion
when it is true. I’m rich
like Bill Gates.

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