White Room

In the white room,
so sterile and clinical,
an overgrown man-child
incapable of handling
anything paramount,
sits and stirs and
pens and broods and
wonders if his pleas
for assistance will
earn him a doggy
treat called Prozac
or Valium or Xanax
or whatever other
trademarked legalese
they call uppers
these days.

Alone, locked away
of his own volition,
in stubborn recognition
of his mental disease,
one day to earn some
spirited reprieve,
yet the jumpsuit is red
instead of blaze orange,
and there are no
curtains of course,
but Venetian blinds
that are really black.

This rambling fest is not
a manifesto penned from the
Birmingham jailhouse, but from
the top of a seven-story empire
devoted to human well-being,
but there is none of that within
the confines of his broken mind.

There are just lyrics to
a song titled by the
color of the blinds
named after the
administrative center
of Italy's Veneto region.

And beyond the quadrilateral
slats are halogen stars below
the real ones we can't see
above because we find
light pollution more inviting
that carbon-belching campfires.

How many have nodded off silently,
quietly subtracting themselves
for the betterment of the whole,
he wonders.

And he wonders if he should
join their ranks, but it won't
happen this night.

Hopefully ever, he reasons again.

But the random nature of
things and the blackness
pervades his being unlike any
other force before or after,
like the electromagnetic
force multiplied with the
gravitational force to
counteract the frictive
air resistance from
the external realm.

Whatever it may be,
be it deity or devoid,
there is only human
reason outside
deciding the next
course of action,
away from the
darkness hopefully.

Reviews

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gosh that was raw,stark and deep..blimey..the second from last stanza caught me off guard..LOL but it was superb writing.