They Need Us
Another Sunnygrove poem. On its own, it describes the plight of the mentally ill throughout history; abused and neglected, sometimes unintentionally, but mostly because they were prisoners of society as well as their minds, not given a voice due to being "crazy."
Sleep so deep its practically death
The crunch and crinkle of broken bones
Trash and tarnished gems
Split apart by fate's cruel hammer
Are scattered to the floor
We're puzzles with pieces wet
Meant for much but not quite right
Bent beyond repair
Unable to be solved
Temporal fissures grow, demonic fractal halls
They lead us astray, like fae with saccharine voices
On nights where the impossible grows a face
He rises from the puddle, smiles and winks
And says give up
Give up and leave yourself behind
Our personal monsters check the temperature of rage
Stir the cauldron of fear
Season it with self-loathing
And map the climates of our inner landscapes
I guess I'm not quite right
I guess I need you
Its history lives on like insects in the walls
No matter how hard you scrub it never comes off
Forever tainted by what we've done
What we've done to ourselves
Replace the tiles in the morgue
And it still doesn't eliminate
The scattered cinders
Of a fire never quite gone
It still burns us
The smoke pours inside
And chokes my voice when I try to speak
To ask you why you've done this to us
When our stares of pain match yours
When every pinprick draws blood
We're just like you, just puzzles
No one bothered to solve
He draws on my skin like an excited artist
Eager to complete long-suffering handiwork
The pain is worth it, he croons
To cleanse me of what was never important
To cleanse me of hope
But what if he were under the scalpel
Under the restraints
What if he were one of us
Instead of a demon in a white coat?
They take me away
I guess I'm not quite right
I guess they need me
Windows leak more than just light
The outside world is sending a message
I can hear it if I tilt my head just right
If I block out the voices
Who say I belong here
Thump, rattle thump
The gurney clatters over fallen plaster
Leather stretches nearly to its breaking point
But always stays in place
The shadows crowd close to taste me
Like starving dogs they lap up all that remains
Feel my mind
Feel it jump and quiver
Like a rabbit in a snare
Not quite dead yet
You resuscitate the madness every time
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