Asylum

Written for a contest once. The theme was what would successfully put you in a mental institution. Always and forever something happening to my daughter.

They are taking you away from me 
like I always knew they would. 
If ever I'd found my own way 
I would have guided you if I could. 

My mind is a bleak yet sprawling house, 
each room holds a treasure. 
Filthy stuffed cat a soft smear of grey, 
white carousel horse in dark water. 

The day without the breath of you, 
soft smear of grey. 
My life before and after you, 
softened smear of grey. 

Mama told me I was special, 
there were things only I could know. 
I could recite the alphabet backwards 
and play "Chopsticks" on the piano. 

When you’re in they pull something out of you. 
Your sense of reason gives chase. 
Some tiny gold-threaded tether 
that once sewed you precariously in place. 

Now rotting at the seams. 
Oh, my serrated skin. 
Your little eyes of moonbeams, 
the bones of my hands worn thin. 

Oh, little girl, do you remember 
the lullaby of Brahm? 
Water dripping from the ceiling 
is now my cradle-song. 

Soft and tinkling like the memories 
they cannot extract in this place. 
Soft and tickling like the warm and purr 
of the kitten in your face. 

How the quiet makes such a din. 
All the faces are my own 
as I crouch in the corner 
trying to web myself in. 

I couldn’t move as you waded out 
while the velvet tide did swell. 
My hands moved like a clock, 
I thought your cries the songs of angels. 

I can’t stop holding onto you, 
trying to find the part of me I lack. 
They try to tear us apart 
but I find a way to come back. 

We are adhered forever, only 
the calla lilies try to call me back. 

Everywhere I itch and burn. 
In their eyes are the oozing remains 
of ferris wheels and music boxes, 
pretty girls prancing on rusty bed frames. 

Now pretty girls with bloody eyes 
prance on rusty bed frames. 

The ballerina’s leg 
torn from her body, 
caught on the spring 
and twirling madly. 

She held a shard of glass to my throat. 
I didn’t fight, I didn’t fight. 
She cried and shook, she cried and shook, 
her hatred of me pure and right. 

Because your scent was so strong 
it lingered within satin. 
My mind set to clearing itself 
to meet you in the end. 

Little maid scrubbing the roach-writhing floor, 
indelible as your hands in my head. 
My mind clearing itself and unlocking the door 
to meet you in the end.