The rusty bell to her little oven, sang the unexpected tune.
Her Orange head drifty as thus the clouds on a sunny day, set the mood all was expected to see
Its been normal to sit with her for hours and utter no earthly word of correlated understanding
The now, dark frightful balls glued to the cobwebs celene not minding who asks her what
Her mom waged to the wall with teary eyes. Visitations were always a sad scene perfect for an arranged audience.
Ann could only think about crying, but the tears were as lost as her brain.
Tied down in a prison unseen
The voices wouldn’t let her be in any other way.
To her watchers in white, she didn’t want their help….they’ll report.
She had given the fight of her life, but her will remains crushed
Her hair always fuzzy, effortlessly disengaging the laws of gravity
She would pop her eyes out as one suffering from convulsion.
When the voices vanished, the watchers came with hypocrisy and criticisms levelled up to their nose
Claiming to jugde and decify.
Not realising to feel, better explains than to know.
Through the potions they gave, she found her salvation
So she Kept on saving it till it was enough
And when the voices thus came again, she chewed it down with a grind of vengeance
Soon, she hit the floor foaming out substance of red and white
Her screams fading into the tick fabrics of the psychatric walls
And the little left, swallowed by the uncoordinated noise of her psychopathic mates
As the sun showered down it’s race
Her lifeless body caved in the same madly position as did when dead stroke
Her soul condemned to drift with lofty passion till it meets heritage
She was the 5th person gone within a full moon, all from the same diagnosis
Drug overdose, the cure from which sprung death.
To the nurses and doctors, one less load has been lifted. It’s always a struggle.