Behind these paint-chipped bars, I can see flakes of snow drifting
Destined
Waiting for demise in a sunny day.
Inside was home.
It was a home worth getting used to.
Where bodies do not stay at rest.
Release was rare
Relapse was often.
And time chased its hands.
Lullabies of mental murmurs
Existing
Passing through planes of sanity.
Worlds exist alongside the other
Of the mad, the dying, and perhaps the dead
We were each in our own.
From behind these bars
We exile judgment
Commit Them to a world of chaos.
Suspended
Possessed by the pain of surfacing,
To be weightless.
Strangled.
Gowns engulf our bodies.
Receding to fatal perfection.
Within these walls, we dance with the drift of snow.
Destined.
Waiting for our own demise, on a sunny day.
-Schulz (Creative Writing Poem #2)
