I count the hours by the pills beside the sink A paper cup, a label, and a name I cannot think You said the ache would loosen if I gave it time But time just learned to turn the pressure on a dime If relief has a shape, why can’t I hold it? If this is healing, why do I feel folded? Dopamine, the perfect drug I’m missing A locked door with the key beneath my skin Every drug is a medicine, who drew the line? Was every cure a poison given time? I want to feel the day arrive Without negotiating to survive The doctor says, “Be patient,” like patience pays the rent I pocket these new pills, but I leave unconvinced At home I read the warnings till the words begin to blur Which side of the bottle is the side that makes me worse? If relief has a shape, why can’t I hold it? If this is healing, why do I feel folded? Dopamine, the perfect drug I’m missing A locked door with the key beneath my skin Every drug is a medicine, who drew the line? Was every cure a poison given time? I want to feel the day arrive Without negotiating to survive I pour them out, let them sit in my palm. How much of this chemical makes up my calm? If I swallow this down, will it alter my brain? Or is it just enough to drown the pain? Maybe the question isn’t what will make me whole Maybe I can ask for help before I lose control I’ll tell you when the morning feels impossible to face Stay here while I find the words, so I don't rush into my own grave Dopamine, the perfect drug I’m missing A locked door with the key beneath my skin Every drug is a medicine, who drew the line? Was every cure a poison given time? I want to feel the day arrive Without negotiating to survive
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