And 25 lines later
I'm still writing
some will percieve this as deep
but it's not.
They are just sheep conditioned to the machine.
No this is just a mixture of thoughts
on thought
and smiling clowns who wave
as I exit the rave
of my blackened mind
to something sublime
than just sitting here
watching time
and cradling my fear
of the unknown and
everything I hold close
whispering to me
why does everything I love run?
I scream, shaking the prison bars,
i would never choose this
I'd rather be in solitary
but no one hears
not with these paddings on the walls
where the corners are dark and hold
frightening men
who hate me
and all I really want is to sleep,
but when I finally wake
I'll drink some tea
and cough it all up
oh what irony
I don't even like tea.