At last I shall tell my story
It is inexplicable, incomprehensive,
mad, and fantastic
From the confines of my white room
Where I admitted myself
From my constitution, I tell

I paced the confines of the room
Walking back, and forth, in my tiny space
Filled with photographs, and paintings,
Made with hands I trusted, and once knew
Dreaming of fresh air and autumn leaves,
I'm slowly loosing myself in shadows on the wall
I cry between the pictures,
walking out of prospective.

As the light goes out,
the darkness comes to find me
Always awake, darkness couldn't erase
the mental picture etched in my mind
Spoon fed, straight jacket, tranquilizers,
and haunted memories, the house on hope street,
the moving furniture's, from here to there,
the other people's, that no one could see, the fall,
the silent crash, falling from reality,
simulating my fall, a deceitful fall,
when there was nothing left,
but the dark corner to break my fall,
Falling to that perfect place, without flaw, or lust
Falling, like through the eyes of a perfect needle.
Insane? No I'm not
Just tired of deaf ears and black coffee
Just a little tired of old child hood memories,
and dark paintings, and porcelain dolls
hanging from my ceilings by threads ,
and watching as the light goes out,
how they cast shadows on the walls,
from the street, and the moon light
They look like god,
and miniature orphans
Coming, and going, as if to tease me,
consumed by godly wine, and dark, dark eyes,
Overwhelmed by screaming in my head,
sweet insomnia as I erase existence from my mind.

THE END