PADDED HELL

She's 217-B, the new case, Who can't predict her moves...Watching the walls approach, of course,
Is proof of insanity...she decided to comply, half-smilingly joins the circle of Bedlam girls...dressed in
Soothing green, sedated, paralyzed, they all sort of look alike...she's here because her blood ruined
The carpet...Her words sound a ghosted speech...she knows what's expected from her: "I regret"
("...Having relied on old blades" she won't say)...she predicts; bouquets every Sunday, carnations forced
To bloom...no thorns, no smell, no roots, a card: "Hope to see you soon"...The air getting thicker
With every day of life she skips...Running out of sands and sense...Someone must've lost the script...
Sun whispers to the moon, doesn't know what to do...It's their job to light her room...Halogen
Lamps in charge...she escapes into a calm that's artifically induced...Examine her with X-ray eyes,
Observe her through the mirror...Be her guest, she'll take another lab or Rorschach test, obediently
Swallow the pill for disillusionment...and five others against the side-effects...before they Bedlam
Girls gather together again...Passing time, painting rainbows...with the colors they are given...A
Rebellion underneath her face, grimace...she swallows the marker...now...Blue so soon.