Asylum

For those of you who enjoy poetry…. I’m weeding through the past, trying to find the bits that haven’t gone stale or rotten in the back of the fridge, and am rolling my eyes with much embarrassment at my younger self, who, believe it or not, took life far more seriously than I do now. I know — how is that even possible?

Here’s something likely inspired by my fascination with insanity — my early heroes were all drug addicted poets and musicians, and I often considered the idea of madness quite romantic. I know better, now.

              There are shades of reason in
              the frayed ends of sanity --
              where a blind man stares at his feet
              and laughs; where wild dogs
              howl in the distance their bittersweet
              song of anguish and despair.
              where cannibals on death row
                            are denied their last meal.
              where nothing on the outside
                            world is real.
              (where all they see is plastic utensils)
              they’re warm and safe behind
                            shatterproof walls;
              where the moss grows thick
                            on damp concrete halls.
              And nobody wants to leave here --
              nobody wants to go out into the out-
              side world.  ‘cause everybody knows
              it’s not safe out there --
              out there in the Asylum.
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4 responses to “Asylum

  1. Wait, what? Do you mean when I grow (even) older my fav poets and musicians wont be drug addicts?
    My husband will pay to see that, cause its ironic, I never tasted drugs in my life yet I find inspiration and best songs to be by musicians who don’t come off acid :/

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