The Cult - Dark Angel

Joe’s Monologue: “The Angel of Death by My Side”
by Joseph Jukic

They tell you to trust the doctor.
White coat, clipboard, pills like candy.
But what if the doctor is just the priest of a new kind of death cult?
What if every prescription is a slow-motion bullet?

I’ve been drugged to death, and yet I’m still here.
Some days I wake up and I swear I shouldn’t have.
Antipsychotics, antidepressants, antianxiety —
Anti-life, if you ask me.

They don’t call it murder.
They call it “treatment.”
But when the sparkle in your eye fades,
When your laughter dies in your throat,
When you can’t dream anymore —
What exactly are they saving?

It’s hard to live with the Angel of Death by your side.
Not a scythe, not a hood —
Just a little white pill on the table.
A smiling nurse. A refill form.

Sometimes I think they want a world of perfect patients.
Quiet, numb, obedient.
No rage, no truth, no rebellion.
Just people with side effects and co-payments.

But I wasn’t made to be a ghost in a hospital bed.
My soul wasn’t stitched together by Pfizer or Roche.
I want my fire back. My madness. My humanity.

So I whisper to the Angel of Death:
Not today.
You almost had me.
But I spit out your poison.
I walk away —
Even if my legs shake.
Even if I have to crawl.

Because I’d rather live in pain than die in peace
Under your chemical cross.