RSS Bot Posted April 15, 2008 Share Posted April 15, 2008 This poem I wrote is about my experience in a kind-of-mental-hospital when I was in my early teens, thus beginning my "depression" and "need" to take drugs like Abilify. I was fortunately good enough not to go into the "padded room." I got more than just bread and water. I never have worn a straitjacket, I didn't hear voices in my head, either, but i did slit my wrists. Kind of silly now that I think about it. I mean, if I really wanted to die, I'd just take a whole bottle of tylenol with a jug of wine. Unfortunately, my mom doesn't like hard liquor, so hopefully wine would be strong enough to do the job. I might just write a poem describing my entire life, from the time when I was born up until the present. This would be stuck somewhere in the middle (right now at least.) as i awaken from my slumber i find myself in a padded room the same one where i spent many nights before and as i sit upon the floor there is nothing I’d like more than the pain to go away i tried to commit suicide and just because i haven’t died they stick me here and throw away the key just because they’ll never see why it sucks to be me those damn doctors are going to pay so all you do is slap a jacket on one with straps so i won’t be gone death would sure be nice but i cannot think twice i need to think life will suffice cuz that’s what “normal” people say i get my daily bread and water and the room is getting hotter just because i want to die i am such a last-class guy and all i do is sit and sigh every single fucking day i am such a troubled teen the worst case the doctors have ever seen and when the day is done and when to rest down goes the sun i have finally begun to sleep and sleep is so OK dream of demons down in Hell everything is going well as i watch mr. doctor liar burning in the lake of fire my spirits are so higher and in the dream i want to stay but i am rustled from my sleep by some stupid dumb nurse creep it is time to go to therapy. as i make my way down the hall i hear the voices call the voices in my head say they want me dead when i slit my wrists they bled i did it just to keep the noise at bay so i sit there on the couch i start to gaze i start to slouch my eyes glazed over i’m a grouch and as they go across the room one by one they speak of doom they list the reasons why they’re here with me in the room of fear and as i shed a tear i feel like the prey when they finally come to me i say i have suicidal tendencies and i explain my case to them telling all just what i am and where my problems stem and when i’m done i think hooray and as the doctors ramble on i wish that my life was gone i don’t listen to a word all their thoughts are so absurd why do they treat me like a turd wipe me off with a bidet and as i go back to my bed still wishing that i was dead the floor beneath me it does creak not a word do i speak cuz my future’s looking bleak i crawl onto my bed and lay and as i look outside i see all the “normal” people walking free holding umbrellas for the rain even though their lives are plain i bet they have no pain as the clouds are turning gray i close my eyes and dream awhile dream out of this place so vile what good is keeping me here? i wish the docs would make it clear and my “sad” thoughts disappear why must the rules of normalcy i obey? there’s no hope of leaving this place the frown will stay upon my face why do they want me to suffer so? i’d be happier if i got to go doctors, what do they know about the games we have to play? http://www.atariage.com/forums/index.php?a...;showentry=4757 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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