Member-only story
WebMD entices me to be my own doctor
To locate the pain and navigate my brain
And come up with a clear diagnosis,
One that offers a pretty grim prognosis;
I work myself up into a tizzy
I grow nauseous, I get dizzy
Yet I have no medical degree,
Just trusty old WebMD
Which is conveniently free
Kinda like most new sources, you see
They feed us their agendas, sell us lies
And most of us wonder who’s stupid enough to buy
Yet it’s us who are the suckers
Who suckle at the teet of those fuckers
Religiously ascribing to a certain set of ways
So that in more than one way we pay —
Blood, sweat, tears, currency we don’t have —
To remain where we are — depressed, broken, sad.
—
I have to ensure that everyone else is okay
Otherwise, I have no choice but to join in the pain
Inflict wounds upon myself so that others can’t hurt me
