A doctor, who specializes in skin diseases,

A doctor, who specializes in skin diseases, will dream he has fallen asleep in front of the television. Later, he will wake up in front of the television, but not remember his

profession. He will wonder what happened to his hands. They will be covered in tiny cuts, from his wrists down to his nail beds. He will not feel any pain. He will see that there

is-" "Quit it now! I've got this here magic helmet to keep yer highfalutin' mind-control tic-tacs outta my head!" "That's tactics, and don't you want to be free from fear? Listen

to me - take off the tinfoil hat." "It's NOT tinfoil!" "Okay, the magic helmet. Take it off - see if the danger is real. You can always put it back on, right?" Hands trembling,

Yet, I felt trapped. The helmet on my head was a prson cell, and there was no way knowing when I'd be released.

The warden of the helmet prison was a fiend. He came into my mind regularly & inspected for contraband thoughts. I wasn't allowed to think of Putin, Holland, or Hilary-Trump mutant

Or even express any opinions. I shut my mouth and survived. I sold my motorcycle and saved the cash. At least I was still alive one year later. So I kept my diary top secret until

that fateful day when I must have accidentally shipped it off with a lot of microwave cookbooks I had sold on Ebay. I searched frantically for that diary, but it was only after

my poem showed up as the lyrics to the newest Ariana Grande hit song did I think to wonder if maybe the babysitters downstairs, Sam and Cat, might have found it by the pool.