Presenting the circus, gather ‘round!
An art display! Watch a family waste away!
Psychotic scribblings on white-wash blank pages,
Fitting insulation for the padded walls
And each one’s oddly striped like a jumpsuit

Textured and chameleon, life flashing by like roulette
One thousand times, two thousand times a day
When will you let off piling baggage? Why not my way?
Sometimes I can’t help but feel like I’m drowning here.
Chained by familial devotion, not allowed to utter sound.

And the one tiny ******* final camo-tarp square
That from which you leave me to view
Means either I reach, breath, block and obscure
Or I gaze at the cloud’s shapes, aloof, and I suffocate
Tell you the truth, now I’m not sure.

I need to leave this deserted, haunted hill.