Grasp at those objects to hold one still,
For he awakes and we know his ill,
A time to cage the mind and squeeze,
Take note of tears he wont appease.
Fragile brains dwindle in castrated silence,
Those able to ignore to heed for guidance,
Black is our tunnel now no light escape,
Laughing words of those caught by nape.
Believe in monsters as they reside within,
Devils mostly to scar and rip the skin,
Preach as mush gossip as your lips allow,
A spindle turns for each stich quite under brow,
Yes it's bleak and we take no solace,
For mental health is a thing of promise,
Is there a way out? I for one think no,
However it's likely that I too shall grow.