In the unbroken smoke, where the cream on the coffee can choke
an unwary cat
that's where I'm at.
I didn't look for it,book it,get this life at cost,so **** it,
I never asked to be here,
the price I must pay is too high and I fear I will die.
The sanatorium,
humorously called a
gated community where
electrodes are placed on my brain,
is that normal or sane?
what kind of people are these?
I can walk as I talk with the trees in the garden that's known
as Gethsemane
where I feel all alone but know that nurses are tailing me.
The smoke drifts away
there'll be no shocking me today.
Napoleon comes by and he waves and says 'Hi'
I say,
'not yet'