The Institute

from the point of view of myself if i were in an assylum

 

I stare at this wall,

all i see is the same.

the ceilings so tall..

this colors so lame.

i hate my new pills,

i hate my new nurse.

ive got 9 mental ills,

and my mothers old curse.

the thoughts that get thunk,

from my earlier days,

its such a huge hunk,

the amount ive lost and the amount that get pays.

my marbles are gone,

my feelings are fake,

the treatments so long,

my brain has an ache.

i forgot i was human,

these walls are so real

no one ever comes in,

to see how i feel.

if the dangers where still here,

and i had access to an extend,

if only theyd get near…

i could make this torture end.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed