Ward 9

[deadpie]

The indistinct tunnel made of bricks
It never ends
The path is as crooked as a burnt spoon
More lurid than any wound
Like a dagger to your womb
While I'm inside you

Lights flicker from above
Banshee's push and shove
A trail of blood that leads to God
Or maybe the slit of your wrist

Bandaged up in a tenacious canvas jacket
Being strolled down a room
Going nowhere
Twitching, contracting muscles
Thunder roaring a dim future
When your locked up here in ward 9.