I hear my father's inner monologues,
I hear them, too
They sing a downtrodden melody,
That transcends the gods and as-seen-on-T.V.
It starts out dim in the corner,
But slowly sinks into my sheets,
Until it takes its wretched form and I know nothing of sleep,
Glues my eyes to the ceiling,
Searching for who knows what,
Painkillers bathed in black light,
A version of me I don't hate
It doesn't add up,
Something is not as it seems,
If we want to be happy,
Is this the way it has to be?