The walls seem thinner, loosening the hold of sanity-
Emotionless paint surrounding all they see.
One cowers beneath the shower head, watching his
dreams swirl into the drain at his feet, while
his nightmares hover overhead like steam,
making the air dense and non existent.
Even the voices inside cry for redemption,
screaming at the gaping void and making
erratic gestures to the crowds that
gather but are deaf.
Another weeps endlessly in the sanctity of her sheets-
Unable to set foot from the island she has
discovered for fear of the sharks of despair
that circle with a lust for her pain. She
buries her face deeper into a pillow,
bellowing her misfortunes safely and
loud enough for something
greater to hear.
They stand firmly like sheep to the slaughter,
anticipating their small round taste of
freedom, longing for the impending
release of their insecurities and
drowning out the hopeless rantings
of the other ghosts among them...
"A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum
shows that faith does not prove anything."
