7.16.2012

elementals

one more dusty late afternoon ends the day
she can tell because the lights come on in the dayroom
and the yellow waxed tile shines like an old ladys teeth
through the smudged thick safety glass
everything looks fake damaged
and cut out of old newspaper

and that damn old man in tattered plaid is yelling at the ceiling fan again
his eyes always squeezed so tightly closed
to shut out the reality
or maybe to capture and retain
what little unsoiled life remains
to treasure and cherish
save it all for a better time
perhaps a rainy day
it seems so ironic to her
anyway

oh they never come to visit her anymore
everyone just pretends the street just ends
at least a mile away from the institute door
so she sits and acts like the elementals arent real
playing with her hair trying to conceal
the discomfort pain and phobias
she still feels


and now she raises her hand
and now the asshole teacher fucking ignores her again
and now the #2 lead digs a gray red groove into her skin

flashing lights honking horns sirens scream
isolation time again

the sleepy sweet smile that used to be her friend
is now just as unfriendly as his frozen hand
its the icy grip that rips her soul apart



narcotic dreams used to be
a quiet dark shack by the slow cool river bend
she felt secure behind a door locked by her and not by them
a place she could unwrap herself
and relax in her skin

but now terrible things happen when she closes her eyes
so she doesn't anymore
and when the white jackets appear at the crack of dawn
her cigarette drops its foot long ash
the glass of poison fractures
and it shatters as it falls to the ground

shes chained in matrimony to the grimy elementals
that line themselves along the wet black edges
of the slippery garden wall
even in the light of day they are always right there
see them fucking looking back
pointing back
taking their goddamn bloody pissy notes
stealing her innermost thoughts
laughing and writing them inscribing them
on the walls of their stoney cold caves
and on each other

at least the flies on the dayroom windowsill are dead
no more wondering if they'll be next
and the other flies dont give a shit
they just fly around until they get hit
like masses of stupid humans
following each other over the edge

little consolation she thinks but some consolation nonetheless
and with a silent curtain call the shadows blanket her
her eyes fight to adjust to the suffocating darkness
but pure black has no light to surrender
so she surrenders to the night
under duress