This tattered fold of the madman’s kiss:
Yellow-flavoured moments of bile and flesh …
The slow, flashing fall of a doctor’s knife,
The white-walled rooms of endless days …
The tables by day with their sheets alight,
Soiled with blood and anger by eve …
In the curling pages a mind slips away,
In a sparkling screech, this soul falls to void …
And with each new drug I giggle and ask,
How came they to think they’re helping me last?
First it was Haldol, now Prozac is king –
With its warm little halos and a feel-good sting,
Anti-psychotics, uppers, downers for all,
Not a lick of your love, just demands to get well!
So, victim or vict’mized, which was your game?
Did they ever find cures for apathy’s shame?
But methinks I forgot, you’re perfectly fine,
Just say I’m in treatment and your sins disappear!
Ten long years holding this family at odds,
Each moment a lie that you’re happy with you;
A decade’s animated frustration has passed,
Shaping your loved so you don’t have to change …
If lessons are truths,
Then let mine be heard:
Hell is an empty house – haunted by those who cared.