I break sweat, not for the first time

as I bang my head against thick,

blackened and bloodied bars

that hold me back,

that resist my shakedown

as they rattle in the dirt

and concrete, small creatures scuttle

around my toes, feeling the chill,

feeling the draining perspiration

that runs down from the small

of my back

and I sweat and I howl

against the only light

in the bludgeoning room,

my tomb self made,

one exit,

no idea how I found myself here

in the madhouse, this

asylum for the half dead

inside, the crypt for the recently

once creative,

once maddeningly;

perhaps lovingly

written off

as

insane…

 

I don’t know how I got

to this place, ramshackle, corrupted

and out of Time bondage

with one exit light

brightly endorsing the way home

but as I shake the lock

and key, as I blow dust

from its cell,

I realise with fondness,

that isn’t it perfect here…

 

Ian D. Hall 2016