My older sister thinks that Madonna gave her a lobotomy,
When she’s at the tail end of her medication and needs more,
And even when she’s on them she talks off to the side,
She knows she’s crazy, I know she’s crazy, we know she’s crazy,
And the lady at the store wants us to stop discussing lobotomies.
My sister thinks it’s funny, I think it’s funny, lady thinks it’s dumb,
But my sister thinks it’s real.
My mother thinks the world is hers but it’s constantly being withheld,
And that I’m the hateful daughter that ran from her loving arms,
She thinks she's sane, I think she's insane, She thinks she's sane.
My father is suffering from a case of relationship Stockholm Syndrome,
Mom says he's weak, he thinks he's weak, I think he's gone.
And I’m not crazy yet…I hope....
My morning checklist:
Brush teeth. Check.
Any voices? No? Check.
Can I be wrong? Yes? Check.
Am I abusive?
Am I delusional?
Am I panicking?
Am I dying?
Do I only think I’m dying?
Am I dying in a Tibetan sense?
Do i want to die?
Nope. Still not Crazy. A little wired but not crazy, a little odd maybe,
No alcoholism, no bulimia, no anorexia, no narcissism no hatred,
I can still feel angry and cheated sometimes, though I can often laugh it of because
I have a sense of humor cultivated by psychological abuse and Monty Python,
And I use it.
That's pretty flawless to me.