ghost ride

being warehoused in a state psychiatric hospital

ghost ride

 

 

wishing for a ghost ride

at that park

when I was tall enough

taught me not to wish

through naive eyes.

they won’t stop the ride,

or even slow it down

a bit;

the clank of tired iron

surrounds and seems

so sadly finalized.

 

everywhere are ghosts

with empty hearts and muddled

brains,

filching cigarettes to feed

their terror times.

singing, maybe screaming,

they’re the friends you

keep forgetting;

occupying nights with all their

hateful, vulgar rhymes.

 

eyes with lights inside

conceal the shaking,

pounding flashes,

groping for a handle in the

gloom.

laughing walls of

silent shame,

cackling so cruelly,

sends me running madly

to be entombed

inside my room.

   

 

dan © 2013