"MORPHINUM" I keep my tone clinic-clean, quick with the fix, calm lips—bedside manner Even when my gut kicks, I button the panic, smile slick—doesn't matter After-hours I clock out, jaw tight, talk to the ceilin' like it's an altar, just alter Tell myself "just a small assist," just a pause, a break when you falter. "Under control" in my mouth sounds grown, sounds stone, sounds professional "Under control" in the dark turns thin, turns grim, turns confessional I say "for work" with a straight-face, make it neat, make it brief—occupational Then I chase same relief like a thief—yeah, compulsive-obsessional. Discipline is just a costume; once I'm alone I talk myself into a spiral Every "I'm fine" gets filed as fact, "later" turns "now"—a ritual trial Click-clack, clean cap, quick hands—can't let the team see me tremble I scribble the symbols, I nibble the "simple," then triple it—call it essential I'm "steady" in public, but petty and punched-up when I'm private—unravel I measure the pressure, depress it, then dress it as "helpful"—untravel I tell myself "pause it," then "cause it," then "solve it," that's slick logic Soft-talk, short-walk, chalk-mark—every excuse got a crisp topic First it was rare, then it's "fair," then it's daily—my own doctrine Now I'm prayin' to quiet while playing with toxic My notes look spotless: tight wordin', right numbers, polite—controlled language But the truth's in the gaps I don't type, in the bites I don't name—soul damage I hide in precision: "per patient," "per shift," "per need"—that's misdirection Clean sentences, mean intentions; I use "correct" to dodge correction I check on my people with perfect inflection, like care is a conformance Empathy's dryin'—still, I'm "concerned," but it's learned performance I hear them talk and I nod at the spots where I should feel—automatic Then I leave and the guilt gets negotiated down to administrative "I can stop"—I stop for a minute, then spin it—self-trickin' "I deserve it"—pain wrote a check, I'm owed—permit-giving Okay—fact-check: I'm slack when I'm back in my place, that's me I'm neat in the street, then defeat myself deep when it's late, that's me I revise and disguise it, deny it, then buy it again—receipt I'm "right" in the light, then I'm lightin' my life on the sly—deceit I split like a script: one part wants to help, one part wants it quiet I quit, then I grip, then I trip, then I tell myself "buy it"—I lied I count up the cost in my head, then discount it with "stress"—rebate I mouth "I'm okay," but the okay is performin' through teeth—chewed fake If this is a choice, why it feel like a clause I can't read?—loophole If this is relief, why it leave me less human each week?—too cold What used to work barely works, so I push it—same push, less effect Chasin' the hush gets colder; I'm older; I'm holdin' my breath for the next I start missin' names, misplacin' days, smilin' late—thin memory And I keep my pride on a leash while it drags behind me—shame emery Friends get the "busy" version; family gets the "fine"—separation Duty turns into a costume; I move through it—simulation I used to feel faces; now I read 'em like tasks—calculation And still I tell myself "I'm a good one," like that's a vaccination I watch my will get smaller, like a room gettin' colder—slow shrink I watch my "I" get thinner every time I choose quiet—no blink No hero talk: I let it happen. I fed it. I led it—complicity Now it's wearin' my skin, speakin' polite through my teeth—duplicity I file it as proper, I'm fightin' in silence, I smile like I'm solid I style it as doctor, I'm dyin' inside it, I lie like it's logic I write "I'm still stable," while I'm slidin' through maybes, I'm sellin' my soul off I hide it in labels, but the lie turns to habit, and habit turns holy Now the calm voice cracks—still low, still slow, but it shakes—I hear it The mask got tight; the act got old; the cost got real—I fear it I wanted to be the one who can carry the weight without spill—precision But I turned "relief" into rule, then let rule turn into religion I bargain with conscience like conscience is just a coworker—negotiation "Not today," "just a bit," "one more shift," same script—recreation And every time I "take the edge off," I take a piece off my person Until I'm speakin' in perfect terms while I'm missin' the person I don't need a villain—no external threat, no myth, no excuse I did it in daylight decisions, in silent permissions—I choose I trained my own weakness, then called it a method, then called it routine Now routine wants tribute, and I pay it with whatever was me So here's the record, no polish: I wasn't "fooled," I was willin' I wasn't "tired," I was tryin' to buy quiet—that's the billin' And now I'm left with a name and a role and a cold little truth— scheme shift. I didn't "lose" myself… I used myself up. That's proof.
