when in: sanatorium

I wore my jim morrison shirt to my weekend trip to the psych ward

This escapade turned out to be a week long movie

Of drugged up kids with fucked up shit that’d happened to them

Like, there was a girl who was raped by her uncle multiple times but no one listened until her skin was purple

And there was a boy who’d get beat by his dad every day and had to get out of the psych ward to make sure his little brother wouldn’t get beat by his dad every day

There was also someone who’d swallowed 7 blades, it wasn’t their first time there

Upon my arrival a ten year old  greeted me by reciting a poem I knew

“Your family hates you and your friends watch you bleed” it went

I’d be okay, according to her. she was getting out that day.

I remember the grayness of the place and the timely activities

I remember the slashes on everyone’s arms, teen angst what it do

I remember the desolation covered up by criminally high doses of medication assigned by some ex-hippie pseudo children’s mental psychologist bloke who had only 30 seconds a day with us

you see, he had to get out of there and go spend his salary

I couldn’t speak much

I didn’t care, obviously

I’d literally failed at failing

(to off myself) in case this wasn’t already clear

New and distraught adolescents came and went

I befriended the introverts as I usually do

President sarah they called me

It was probably the toxicity of high school politics that put me in the sanatorium in the first place but hey, president sarah of the undead dead

holler at your 21st century hamlet

There was a girl and her name was violet

She heard me singing heaven knows I’m miserable now and joined in

She saw me reading lolita and so I snuck into her room and  we deciphered why we were in the loony bin in the first place

Though its quite reasonable, considering the way we see the world or

The trauma that we inherited from our parental units

Or maybe it was the wisdom our bodies were too small to hold

Maybe we weren’t held enough as children

Then there was michael

his voice dripped of such devastation and frank discomfort of being

Naturally I gravitated toward him

We were good friends even after the post-psych shit

That by the way fucks people worst than when they get there

There are many lost little souls I met in the valley of my existence there

I wish I could immortalize them all

They’re either keeping on or dead

And I wish I could tell them they should stay

Even in a world that doesn’t ask them to


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moon skulled

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