Asylum

I hear them pounding on my doors,
they've found me.
It's an instant intravenous panic,
and the drip is searing my veins.
There is no way of arresting the flow
of their cure-all serum.

"She's locked herself inside..."
and they all assume that fresh air will fix me.
On the outside, these walls that i've erected
seem cold, and impenetrable....
grey rock and iron bars,
a grief fortified castle of isolation.
They must be colorblind.

"We have to save her from herself..."
but the inside of these walls are under construction.
I have painted them with every color
that my anguish inspires.
This place where they refuse to allow me to rest
is my place of refuge, my walls of security,
the only place where my rage
can be consummated and allowed to burn itself out.
This place where they imagine my self destruction
is actually the setting for my self resurrection.

"She's crying out for help..."
I am not crying at all.
I am screaming for silence,
I am tearing through the catacombs of my own head,
trying to find a place with peaceful nothingness.
I do not need your help to reach this destination.
Your fear of me turning inward shows me
how afraid you are of yourself...
The monsters of guilt and regret
that hide in the shadows of your mind
do not exist in mine.

"She shouldn't be left alone..."
then how will I heal?
Are you going to reach your hands into my very soul
to fill up this wailing emptiness?
Your hands can not reach where my wounds exist.
The only hands that can help me now
are the hands of time.
I have learned to be patient with my pain,
you must learn to be patient with me.
This pain is not possessed by you,
nor are you possessed by this pain...
allow me the nightmare of owning this torment,
and the relief of healing it by my own will.
You think you are leaving me alone,
you think you might be deserting me in my time of need.
You are leaving me to the safest hands possible,
my own.

This inner asylum of mine is the only place
where I can comprehend this loss of myself.

...and all anyone else can do is pray.

©1992-2008 by SLT 80. All Rights Reserved.

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