[intro – low, restrained, room tone] What I lived trained me. What trained me never left. The room is small, I count the squares on the floor, twenty-five full tiles, life goes on all the while. I’m on to the half tiles, I include myself in that count, my lifestyle… half a life, half well, half hour, half hell. These walls confine, intrude on space, closet design, closet case, sterile cold place. Out in the hall, laughter is heard, voices… doesn’t mean anything except that they exist, different from my existence. I’ve seen too much to fall apart on cue, did the time, lived the violence, made it through. Some pain doesn’t rise – it knows I won’t break. Pain… allows me to live. Put a number to your pain, I’ll say it’s an eight. It’s not great, could be gone, something it ain’t… never, it is always there in everything. Just deal with it, no one really cares, they don’t feel it, not even when you tell them. [verse – training & persecution] I learned to sleep with my back to the wall, count footsteps, read tone before words. Every sound meant something, every silence meant more. Calm gets you caught where I’m from. You stay alert or you’re done. More like the persecution: I feel penalized, I feel punished to not have a purpose to exist. Why do I persist, barely even present, every missing is evident. First degrading lessons, confidence second, self‑worth dissolves, third ailments multiply – what do you fix first? They don’t care about your struggle, they feel your energy. One wrong move, situation turns deadly. Insurance says deny: you don’t need to live a quality life. Exist as you are, broke, breaking… a burden. You are being a burden to the system. counted all the tiles, I’ve counted the minutes, I’ve counted the ailments, have counted the brain cells I have left – very few. Count the friends I have left – even smaller number. Just been a great existence, can’t wait to repeat it, make the round trip and come back here. Freedom felt light for a minute or two, then silence hit like a cell door cue. Body kept score of every round, mind woke up when no one was around. Outside, people move without scanning the room, laugh too loud, stand too close, trust too soon. Silence feels fake, calm feels staged, my nervous system still works the old cage. [PA voice – robotic] Dr. MARTIN… Doctor MARTIN, pick up white telephone. Dr. MARTIN, please pick up. [verse – numbers & thresholds] They think danger announces itself. It doesn’t. It blends in. Smiles. Waits. Told to put a number to your pain: you say it’s an eight, wonder what happens when it reaches ten. Have to pretend, and a new level is the new base, it’s not allowed to be unbearable – just something you have to face. They don’t feel how thin the line is, how fast a moment turns vicious. One second jokes, next second red, some people snap – they don’t bend. Remain positive: everything subtracts, nothing is given.
