You think you need a repeat prescription, your iridescent loneliness is smothering, I understand that you get stuck inside your head. You think you’re doing something right, working on yourself fixing something broken by finding something broken to fix it. Fall in love with the way those little pills make you feel, swirled around your velvet mouth you look forward to the allotted time when you take them. But tolerance is a strange thing, placebo even worse because they don't make you feel as great after a whole six months. So you take two at a time, switch at will, different pills but none of them seem to fill this hole inside your heart Now you’re tense, getting angry, throw the bottle against the wall or down into the bin Who needs them anyway? But alone you feel it creeping in, the weight of all you’ve done, and all you’ll do again So you find a new repeat prescription again and again and again.