Label or Not

He fiddled his pills and said I was ill- mental was certain the type.

OCD, ADD, PCP, LSD, he threw letters at me.

He gave me short shrift and flipped me a script, to give me a lift.

Chemical mind, chemical me, seemed a bit unfit.

I hadn’t understood, from where that he stood, he knew why I grieved or if I was pleased.

With pills in my hand and script with his plan, he said all would be well; he’d seen it before and these pills would level the score.

Lucky for me I wasn’t able to see, how pills in my throat would make me more me.

I dispensed of his pills, and felt no more ill.

A future I planned, away from this man.

Labels weren't for me.