My Cardboard Balcony

Just how many more elixirs are you going to pump down my throat before you claim that I've recovered my sanity? The formula tastes so bitter; it dries out my mouth and makes my teeth shake. I feel like I'm going to convulse so wildly that my soul will deliberately throw itself out of my body. And yet, you force me to stay in bed, claiming you're "flushing out the toxins," all while dousing my whimpering tongue with snake oil.

Activate by Belinda Roddie Look, how many times do I have to explain the level of apathy that's risen in your veins? Let the empire do as they may to you; you don't exactly care enough to preserve the right to choose. Or the right to speak. Or the right to give. Or the right to protest. Or the right to live.