sick note

I feel like writing a list of symptoms;
"please mister doctor,
I can't look at myself in the mirror,
I can't look at her self either,
I can't even think,"
I can't even find my way around my own thoughts,
my own state of mind doesn't feel quite like mine,
my music and I aren't getting along,
reason and nature no longer singing my songs,
no longer anything solid to stand on,
and can't move on.
From this thought, I'm running around in a circle
of trust which can't rust,
a love which can't change,
I don't think,
but I can't think at all,
I can't sleep,
my head hurts,
and I feel like the water's so deep
all around me, above me, below me, between;

and the one lifeline I have is around my neck.

"so, doctor, now why don't you tell me what I should do next?"