A synapse of lucid words

no meaning to most, but in the clockwork of my own head they will tick
and tick
until I turn over in angst of the heedless helm of my own mind and set myself back into insanity.

I feel myself slipping away, back to the dull grey doors, back to the routine pills of involuntary confinement
and I am thankful
for at least something has happened.
in this dull grey world of my own making, coiled wrapped and chained up by my own ego,

But if I were to leave
who would know?

At least you, my darling thead would understand