Thursday, 7 July 2011

The Treatment

Alone I sit within my room
So small and painted white
Walls padded like my mother’s womb
And lit by blinding light

Some-one behind, I don’t know whom
Then draws my jacket tight
Into my view strange faces loom
And tell me it’s alright

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A needle’s jab brings torpid doom
It does not help to fight
They lock me in my sterile tomb
You think this soothes my plight?

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