Ripe for the Madhouse

20th Century Mental Hospital. Inspired by Ken Kesey and Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

I wake up to the room again.

Trace my hand along the white walls.

My finger outlines the black eyes,

Numerous are marked in the room on all sides.

They watch me eat my food that appears,

They canvas the room as each midnight falls

They stare in horror at my discoloured skin,

And look down with hate when I speak of my sins.

 

I wake up in the room again.

The walls seem to be creeping towards me,

But the eyes are still there surrounding my pale bed,

And the bright light above is searing my head.

The floor seems kinder; it no longer drags me down

And the door remains closed �" as it always should.

The beings in white always seal the lock,

So that when I scream and pound they ignore my knock.

 

I wake up in the room again.

The window is shrinking, the sky disappearing,

The door handle mocks me; the bath tries to drown me,

The thoughts in my head are a maniacal sea.

Because I continue to pound but they don’t let me out

Mighty people in white; letters after their names,

Often break in and try to hold me back �"

I convulse on my bed; my eyes roll to black.

 

I wake up in this room again.

I create a masterpiece in red paint.

The fiends retreated when the Sun’s arms reached through,

But they fixed the nightmares that haunted me too.

For a while the room regrows, the white polished to diamond

The bright light shaped a halo �" I became a saint.

At these times that they fixed me, the light could twirl and dance

The eyes let me be; they were shrink-wrapped in a trance.

 

I wake up to my room again.

The walls have crept back in.

There were insects that chewed at my ears

In my mind they fed at my fears.

 

The Sun’s arms abandoned me; the halo has faded

And the treacherous nightmares return.

The door is a devil it attacks my head

To furnish the metal and stain it red.

 

I wake up in my room again.

The window is shrinking and shrinking and shrinking

The door laughs in my face

Infinite eyes have no more space.

 

The beings in white return to hold me back

To heal me again, send a pulse through my thoughts.

My bed overpowers me and clasps my back

My memories are scorched; my eyes roll over black.

 

I am tired now,

I have a corroded mind.

White walls creep closer suffocating my throat

Harrowing shadows become my only coat.

 

Shadows have scratched out the eyes staring down

My skin shivers white; I fade into the walls.

The window is gone �" bars stand in its place

My thoughts have been seized my mind a trace.

 

But for now I can sleep, my dreams cradle my brain

Until tomorrow, where I’ll wake up to this room again,

Until tomorrow, where I’ll wake up to this room again.