Truth

I visited my mother in a Tampa Bay complex.
Klonopin and vodka all day.
She was always pulling on bottles.
No pull to eat.
Strapped inside of cathode rays.
What was most sad of all is that you never want to leave your imprisonment.
You said that ""I'm happy""
I was arrogant I said that you weren't.
Smoke billowed through the screen door slide.
I stared at my computer to escape from the night.
You asked me advice so I wrote you a lie.
I typed : Truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.

I visited a writer with anxiety complex.
Depression meds to last through the same.
Prescribed in bottles. Shown on TV.
Cost as much as eighteen plays.
On his TV flat screen was the porcupine dream of the essay
where a man and his dream let loose on caffeine see it only one way.
And ""Pain rings true"" said the pen to the knife.
And what rings true is what a pen wants from life.
Said ""I used to want to die just to prove I was right""
No one told me truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.

I visited my lover in an hourly hospice.
I've yearned for you on pixel display.
I'm always pulling on bottles.
No pull to eat.
And cannot find the words to say.
Except what is most sad of all is that I never want to leave my imprisonment.
You said that ""I'm happy"" but I know you and I know that you aren't.
That's when the words they started to fly.
Weight took off there and opened me wide.
Took a smell of her perfume and a glance in her eye
To learn truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.
Truth is not punishment.