Subconscious memories lurking beneath,
Lying in dormant like knife within sheath.
Covered in grime, decay and rust,
Merely forgotten, but only just.
Some float on the surface concealed by the mist,
Insidiously waiting to grab you by the wrist.
Others simply wait in the shadow of night,
Ambivalent here is the clarity of sight.
Trapped among the fog it appears that you are,
Can\'t stay in one place but you mustn\'t go far.
Looking frantically behind you, you wade into the mire,
Dodging broken glass and strings of barbed wire.
\"It must be here somewhere\", a voice within you says,
Waist-deep in the marsh, you are blinded by haze.
Shivering incessantly from the cold hard rain,
You know to tread carefully in this domain.
For there are terrors down here that you wouldn\'t believe,
Powerful are the threads of fear the mind can weave.
How vulnerable you\'ll be in desperate plight,
With nothing but two eyes and the beam of your flashlight.
But you must find what you seek if you wish to depart,
Pay attention to your mind; never listen to your heart.
For this mystical object can only be found,
By circling the cerebrum\'s gargantuan ground.
Suddenly ahead, you see something gold,
Amid the grey fog in the swamp of the Old.
Surrounded by revulsion, confusion and hate,
Beyond all of this lies your possible fate.
After taking great steps, before you it lays,
Gaping in disbelief, you stand in a daze.
Reaching out toward it with rubbery hands,
You slowly ease forward on legs made of sand.
Then unexpectedly you feel a tug on your wrist,
And in a rapid panic you clench your fist.
You try to take hold of the object ahead,
But no, it\'s too late, you\'re already dead.
Then the cold feeling of leather envelops your arm,
And a familiar voice demands you stay calm.
As you open your eyes and look urgently around,
The thumping of your heart is the loudest sound.
The phantom-like figure, blurred by your sight,
Reaches at your eye with a small flashlight.
And as it shines the beam and shakes it\'s head,
You struggle and squirm on the plastic bed.
As the spectre before you suddenly becomes plain,
You make out the white coat among the blinding terrain.
With the sickly-sweet voice and the patronising manner
Comes the blood-red clipboard and the thick-paged planner.
Returning to reality you widen your eyes,
And in shocking revelation you realize.
That the place in which you curently dwell
Is where minds have become nothing more than a shell.
Catatonically, you stare at a ceiling of grey matter,
The robe you now wear all ragged and tattered.
Understanding at last with terrifying clarity:
The mystical object was the golden cup of Sanity.
This is very surreal, I know. I guess I just wanted to try and imagine what went on inside the mind of someone who has lost their sanity...and put it into words. My favourite form of expression. Anyway thank you for reading once again, and please leave me a comment, I\'d love to know what you think :-)
