Cell mate.A Poem by Phoen-ixThe taste of forgiveness is sweet, but so is lobotomy. Sincere apologies aren't always genuine and lately, the cards on the table just don't match up. What were you thinking? That night when you walked into my place, getting on your hands and knees and scrubbing the filthy, black floors. No matter how hard you scrubbed, no matter how much you wanted it to be clean, the floor was still a sickly colour. Giving up, you turned and looked at me with sorrow-filled eyes, uttering words that would make a deaf man's stomach turn. Something inside of me, acted upon your actions and it wasn't until I was sitting in a white gown in a cold, dark cell, that I realized what you had said. Neuroleptics coursed through my veins causing my blood to boil; open wounds under a shower of salt. Hearing screams and hollow cries from near, made my soul quiver with excitement and oh, how my god-damn heart was sick of it. The words, "white devil" were still ringing in my ears, while your petrified eyes burned my skin.
From the outside, the pretty white coats tried to treat religion with mental illness. An anti-psychotic would only be able to treat the insane.
© 2013 Phoen-ixAuthor's Note
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Added on September 5, 2013Last Updated on September 5, 2013 Author
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