Behind the Walls
Mad memories of stone and metal
And plastic forks to eat off of sterile plates
Eyes always watching a human menagerie
As we learn how to be what we once were.
Nobody leaves without the faint scars
Of being labelled, diagnosed, poisoned, and caged.
I sleep in a room like a spider's web
Fearful every night; my atheism dissolves
To make way for the peaceful repose of religion.
I am Zarathustra's disciple, casting spells
And witchcraft. I am balanced by Tao
But not enough for the vampires who
Take from me my blood at regular intervals.
I glare at puzzles, TV, exercise machines.
I test the walls and columns and flora
And discover that only half are as they appear.
One pillar is stone; another rings like a bell.
One plant is leafy and alive -- the other plastic.
I develop a fixation on cheese. I am a rat,
My conscience giving hints about my feelings.
I experience metaphor in lively rants and
Colourful behavioural alterations.
Always the question: "are you having suicidal thoughts?"
To which I reply: I wouldn't be here if I did.
My paranoia had lead me to flee the freedom outside.
This was life-saving: a witness protection program.
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