Object

Nail on the wall, rusted from the rain

Painted in the brightest of sanguine

Where they kept me, like a scar upon their alabaster plastic

Held me apart, raised me down the elevator shaft

 

Institutionalized asylum, a safe place to rot

Psyche, the warden wants your soul

I’m bitter, because I’m medicine for a wound that is festering

Lost in the afterglow of the overshadowed

 

Because we’re more than lost pieces in this game of chess

Once we were whole minds, the jigsaw raw with shattered lives

Glass is sharp when it wants to see through you like a two-way mirror

You see us as sick, but if you were on this side, you’d be looking at yourself

 

High on the food-chains armoured with your lies

Yelling in a forest turned bog, in the middle of nowhere, words aren’t real

You have to read the mood, to see the hatred

You have to hear the nothing, to know the sound of empty

 

Pull out the syringe from the spring trap of the picture frame

Wrath and apathy a rhapsody of psychopathy hermaphrodites

I only look below the skin, to see the hard truth in the boneyard

I only cut through the curtains so the real show can begin

 

Where the puppets play masquerade

And make a statement, which is bought and sold in a hospital

The illusional ventriloquist of God’s shadow

The Doppelgänger, the Object, the one Below Us All

 

We are all objects, we are all hanging from a nail on the wall

We are pretty porcelain marionettes that haven’t yet dropped

Out the window to rock-bottom enough times this week

Stepping through the looking glass, Alice isn’t a bad child

 

Alice is a sick creature, Alice is frail failure, wailing halleluiah to the gallows’ loony bin

Left the nest too early, clipped her sanity, sold her wings, folded her being, cold is her screaming

Because they’re the Seamstress that cut my thread

And strung me up like a scarecrow

 

To watch me fall

From the tower of babble, into the ashtray of madness

Coughing on the soot of amnesia

Put back together as they stitched my loose strings and made me new

 

Like them, the fire in my eyes like the coal in my chest

Burning on the inside, pushing the envelope, I’m the male man

Because they made me in their image, deliverance, so they are now my gods

Separate the fruit from the vine

 

The rewrite of a person

Into a thing, a monster, objectifying my metamorphosis

I ran from the sanctuary, but I never left

They own me, I am their plaything, a toy no one will love

 

Swinging on the double helixes of my crucifixion

My sins died for me

The end is coming around the corner

I walk the street but never make the turn, my path is what I’ve learned to be

 

A product of a human being

I found a way to stand again

A wildcard in the hand of man

I only ever play the game so I can lose my mind

 

And find my purpose, in madness

I am theirs, I belong here

In the arms of the Object’s archangels

Delusional megalomania under the veil, I still wear my mask

 

Under their halos, I smell the sound of Death

I hear the sickly-sweet exorcism of the lunatic’s lobotomy

Ghosts of my past haunting, swinging in the wind

Bound by their wrath undaunted, haunted by their sins

 

Flaunted in the swim

Monster from the skim

Contact with their skins

I taste the soul within

 

Blood upon my fingers

Singed by coal inside their chest

As the wickermen combust in the blackwater

Like memories pretending to be dark yet still burn bright

 

 

 

Author's Note

I've spent several years of my life in hospitals for the mentally ill. Held against my will in a mad place with dangerous people, not necessarily only the patients.

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

One of my favorite movies, which I just watched a couple days ago on DVD: "Girl, Interrupted" . . . the part I love is how Winona Ryder's character is ambivalent about whether she belongs in the asylum (for lack of better word) or not. This is your best share, in my opinion, becuz of how you explain your own personal experience in authors notes. I've read you quite a bit & never knew this about you. I've struggled to read some of your poems (since I'm not that good at reading nuanced poetry) & this huge piece of info about you really helps to put ALL your poetry in better context for me. This is my favorite of your poems I've read in the last year or so becuz of the way you come closer to opening up & being more clear about what you are saying. Sometimes it feels like you hide your true intent behind very powerful & interesting wordplay, but all the same, it's hard to understand, even if the wordplay is fun to read. I try to read poets that I don't understand very well, but it is my opinion, that as writers, we owe it to the reader NOT to make them work so hard to get what we want them to know about what we have to say. This is why I love this poem of yours the most, becuz I didn't have to work so hard to get what you are saying here. I know you don't care to seek popularity with your writing, but I also believe that you do want understanding from your audience. This kind of writing (more clear & straightforward) goes a long way to deepening the experience of reading you (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

My favourite thing to do with poetry is ask questions rather than give answers. I want the reader to find the answer for me. Because sometimes it's really hard for me to say it. I like the abstractness that some poems can share. But I agree. I want my readers to understand. Maybe I'll try to make some poems that can say how I feel out loud. It's just so much easier when someone else can do it for me. Due to the fact that sometimes what I say is cryptic, because while I want to share the feeling, I don't always want to say it. Thank you for the read and review. You're opinion means a lot to me. :)

[barleygirl]

Bad Bunny (Robert Trakofler) reminds me of you, as far as writing in the ways you describe here in your reply. As for me, I'm also a lazy reader . . . I don't want to work so hard to try to dig into a message. As you can tell by my writing, I just wanna have fun! *wink! wink!*

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I've always appreciated writers like that, it's what makes us unique, our different ways of writing. I'm happy that you write the way you do, it certainly adds a personality to the work.

[Wild Rose]

I thought this was writen by someone with experiance of such places
Wordman says 30's 40's
It isnt so long since we were visiting ma in law in a normal old peoples ward > In taht hospital it was next to the 'Locked' ward with mentally ill locked in
Then we got a mail order to make some flowers and deliver them for a relative > It was christmas
could we ensure she received them > I delivered the flowers > No I could not go in she was quite now it would upset her if we took the flowers in person and "You wouldn't like to go in there dear" they said

Your writing portrayed such a place

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

My experience is nothing compared to people 50 years or more before my time. I had a horrible time there, sure, but the way they used to do things was much, much worse.

[wordman]

reminded me of the 30`s and 40`s whee these places seemed to flourish

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'm glad people became more open minded, or asylums would be still around today.

[wordman]

well you`re right but they claim most homeless people would be better off but not like the old days

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Yeah, thankfully things have changed a lot. But it needs to change even more.