I.
Air is cold inside of psychiatric hospitals
As it is in any hospital really
But in psych wards there is an emphasis on feeling and the temperature dial being set low
It raises the hair on your skin straight upwards
Like a standing ovation
Like you are covered with tiny needles extending from your skin
It feels unnaturally raw
Exposed even
Like your organs have been set out onto a table
For strangers with higher degrees of education to poke at
In rather uncomfortable temperatures.

II.
Then there is the johnny
The dressing gown
Which reveals the many cuts and bruises you've got under the places that used to be clothed
Behold the surface of your body that lives in shadows
Hides.
That you starve,
And scratch,
And hate,
The people with medical degrees feel every inch of you.
Where he felt that night.
**** stop.
Then there's the needles on your skin again poking out.
A defense mechanism
You're human porcupine.

III.
It's silent as you pace towards your hospital bed
No one stirs
The window next to your bed has names and words carved in it with nails
Passing patients so eager to leave their mark
The air is still cold and you lay under thin sheets
Feeling every place where the blankets drap over your exposed skin.
So where did today go wrong
and why
Is there a pit within you
As you gulp for the chilly air?