64

This poem is about a psychiatric patient in solitary confinement, that has been put on a test drug to ‘cure’ their psychosis.

When the sun sings brightly in the sky

And flowers begin to bloom

The harsh, cold grip of winter, broken

And light shines into the room.

Through metal bars, and walls of white

I have a glimpse of life

In my world, with white on walls, ceiling, and floor

Light reflected, bounces around them

No color dares to enter here, save the greys and blacks of night.

Night is fearless, merciless, and cold.

I curl up on the floor, staring at the window, up so far

But there is no light, no sound, no color.

Color is reserved for the outside world, and then, only during the day

No color dare present itself in the night.

There is a great fear, of the night, just as there is a fear, of many things, here.

Like the masked demons of the day.

But during the day, there are lights, and sounds

That can distract you from the pain

In the night, you are alone.

Alone with your shadow, and your pain

And you want to scream

Because the pain, is unbearable

It’s tearing you apart, from the inside

And just when you think, that you can’t take it anymore

There is a noise, a tiny noise

A small chirp, a flutter of wings.

A bird. And then, suddenly, the room is filled with light

And with the light, comes the noise

And the life, outside of the window

And you are solitary, but no longer alone

It becomes bearable.

Each sunrise, a rebirth

From the monsters of the night

But the day has monsters as well

They come in your room, too soon, after the beauty of day begins

It can’t be appreciated, enough

Because of their, injections

That make you writhe in pain

This isn’t life!

This isn’t what you see, out of the window.

Where the birds call, to eachother, in jest.

Do they get injected, with this poison?

That burns, nameless, through your veins?

No, no, no. They fly, free, and mock each other.

Each more bright, and beautiful than the last.

Their world is filled with color.

But not mine.

Here they come, again

Loud banging of the door,

Only indication of their arrival.

No strength, to get up

So I lie still

They bring with them, the poison

White masks, gloves, come closer

I struggle, scream, thrash, as they grab me.

Cold press of metal into my skin

Fire, fire, burning through my veins

Throat so raw from screaming

No sound, no sound comes out.

Instead, sweet call of birds

Outside the window

I wish, I had

That world.