DOTTORE

It feels like my heart has burned out, and my body is just living on inertia. Everything seems to be by the book – pills, advice, an automatic smile – but inside, there's a crunch of emptiness, as if someone has turned the volume of life down to its lowest setting. No tragedies outside, just fatigue from a role where even pain seems like a plastic prop. The music comes in muffled, viscous waves, like breathing through a cotton pillow. Each line seems to be begging for a doctor, but only gets a prescription for oblivion. And yet, there's a strange comfort in those words: acknowledging what's broken is a little healing in itself.