The clatter of the silverware, the wisps of flowing golden hair, so unjustly were the trays prepared that no one noticed we were there. In those halls where moans bellow like bulls showing off their fevered pride, the mindless and the asylum dolls traipse the corridors. You can ask but they’ll scarcely reply, for oft went reason behind the locks, and forward marching they’ll deny that any of them belong. So we stood, aghast at those in tattered and unkempt attire, as urine’s pungent aroma filled our nostrils full and we lacked the stomach to view them all. One young girl, not more than 9 played hopscotch with a baby doll, then shrieked and tore its head clean off; bit her fingers til they bled, and I was never more relieved to take our leave when soon enough we heard with dread that our stay had been extended and we’d not leave as we’d intended. This was no time for fear they said, lift the chins upon our heads, and to our rooms they soon led. I, for one, shall surely write to the physician in charge of our miserable plight, let him hear an ear from me, for this is no place for us to be. Mistake I yelled and turned to my friend, but found myself all alone and knew that she was not with me and knew this place was now my home.
Drifting, liquid, untamed thoughts surged from her mind onto the floor and no one came to rescue her as she banged her head upon the door, and her moans flowed into the others that echoed through the corridor.
(photo credit: <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/photos/funky64/4729890087/”>Funky64 (www.lucarossato.com)</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>)
sheilapierson 