Those grey doors, how when washed away with colour they appeal to the insane.
A dull nothingness, that helps bind the soul to nothing, another ant in the hill of dirt.

Those grey doors, where I found out that you can be reduced to nothing, back to the purity of an animal.

Kicking and screaming, bound and chained testing which pills work with what needles to bring me down.
While he cries out to a merciless God.
And he watches laughing through those grey doors.

Of course to the Gods pity is the lowest of emotions. A dreadful sin, to want to be pitied.
While they test and write notes on their clipboards on Gods image.
a nobody.
a no one.  
A soulless creature to be beat down, for his own good.
and left to soil himself in a comfy hospital stretcher bed.

Of course it was necessary, but I wonder what it would be like to go back through those grey doors.
or the black door which offers so much promise.

To think my words have meaning
is more pretentious than the word itself.

To think of all my dreaming,
coming true would be a living hell.

To think of all my scheming,
will make me happy, great and true.

To think of all my thinking,
makes me feel the ******* blues.

Oh, a taste of insanity,
how it appeals so dearly to me.
A cast of a die numbered 1 to 6
forever to be my numerous emotions to pick,
and wrestle with the probability of a god.

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