“A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.”

By sara_nia

Those delicate little birds
Chirping rhymes and ringlets
And rustling white gauze
Across the bricks.
We put flowers in our hair
And sit and contemplate
What fleeting ghostly image
Might be freedom.
The men and their clipboards
And their roaming hands
Take notes, makes jokes.
Their stare is full of some
Black and manic monster
Who lives in dreams
In this daytime nightmare
That is cast upon the collection
When the medicine is brought out.
A tea party, they tell us
(And I’m sure we’re all guilty of murdering the time)
And they are right that we are
All White Queens in this dark place,
and hum and trill
Syringes and pills, syringes and pills.
That’s the mens favourite job, you know -
Putting things in us.
But sometimes I can’t remember.
And sometimes I don’t want to.
Tomorrow is the same as today
Always in the offing
Lost somehow and wandering
Through the corners of ourselves
As if by some trick or turn
The others will see our bloody fingers
And take us home.
Do they remember that they loved us, once
Before they locked us here?
The key to the asylum
Can’t be far beyond
Our tethered reach.
Through braced doors, or red brick walls
Or at the end of bodice lacing.
This chunk of chalk is not my escape
I know that much
But I’ll pretend.

(Inspired by Emilie Autumn’s Opheliac and Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls)

“A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.”

Created: Sep 16, 2010

Tags: nightmare, madness, abuse, dark, mental, night, vicotorian, shakespeare, drowning, death, white queen, tea party, dream, asylum, suicide, ophelia

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