"hydrotherapy" poems
A summer dress, perhaps
deserves a summerish redress.
In the witching hour, solitude's domain,
there is naught but
I, and the white-hot eclipse for my eye.
I have one hand beneath your neck,
and another behind your knees.
In these gloves, I will drown and resurrect
my fair dress, one-and-only Sunday Best,
sodium hypochlorite cocktail mess.
My alternative hydrotherapy
is a remedy from my enemy.
You traffic through this well of hell in ease.
A fire drunken on the Lethe.
Deliquesce in clinical scents.
Your skin thrives on the purge,
but mine cannot survive.
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
You're insane
You're crazy
You've lost it
You're mad
That's what they tell you
That's what they say
But maybe it's them
Maybe they're crazy
Maybe we all are
And maybe it scares us
So we lock up those who make it obvious
Or maybe they're the sane ones
Maybe we all just refuse to hear the voices
Or see the people
Maybe it's driving us all insane
If you really think about it
If you really do
Who's really more insane?
The poor mental boy
Or the sick excuse for a doctor
The one who claims to cure him
The one who 'heals' him with electricity
With eels to his head
Or who boils him in a tub
"Hydrotherapy" he says
"It helps" he says
Laying it out makes it obvious
Laying it out makes it clear
You'd be insane to believe that those could work
Insane!
But that was then
This is now
Now we use drugs
Now we use words
Or do we?
There is still pain
There is still torture in therapy
And the patient in the ward has no say
They are locked
Stuck eternally
Hearing the same thing over and over again
You're insane
You're crazy
You've lost it
You're mad
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC