A sane man in a mental ward has no chance. He knows his name:
They’ve sewn it to his pants.
He closes his eyes and pretends he’s surrounded by novelty clocks.
Every hour the accusations of being cuckoo hit his head like
Jagged rocks.
With a dull ringing in his ears, he is still reeling from his fears
That came to be.
Nurses come in and out, trying to see what the fuss is all about.
He watches one load the syringe. He cannot help, but cringe.
Sedated, he starts to feel comfortable in this asylum
His mind is faded.
When the clouds clear, he knows he is hated here.
And so, tries to cheat his fate by sneaking out the gate.
He is lucky. His mind is a rarity. He kept his sanity.
He learned the hard way—No matter what others say:
it’s a choice. A desperate struggle to hold fast to the rational.
It is some comfort to know that every now and then it is acceptable to
Let go.
Take care not to stray too far. Should you get lost you will pay a grave cost.
No refunds.