Locked and padded...number three

by John Smallshaw
(London,England)

The Doctors left..they all went home
Leaving me alone to roam through the alleyways
Of yesterday's
And in those mists of haze
I wander free.

The Doctors are so kind to me
They gave me morphine just to see
If I would sleep.
I keep a watchful eye upon the pillow where I lie
And though the doctors try
They can't get through to me.

Bars on windows
Bars on doors
Polished red linoleum floors
All things that give me cause to stop and think.
Drinking in these things I see
The brutality of being free.

I pop the pills the doctors gave
Become another slave to medicine
Begin to sink.
The doctors think that,that's the cure
I remain unsure.

The morning nurse arrives to see
If I'm okay
That's fine by me.
And then the breakfast on a tray..
..Another day in paradise.
It's very nice..I might stay on
Until the demons have all gone.

The doctors tut
Put records straight
I can't wait till they go home
And I can roam once more to find those words they underscore..
..and write in ink so red
For now I'll stay in bed..and pretend that I'm asleep
That will keep them..
..Happy.